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I 



Stewart «St Kidd Dramatic Series 



The Portmanteau Plays 

By Stuart Walker 

Edited and with an Introduction by 
Edward Hale Bierstadt 

Vol. 1— Portmanteau Plays 

Introduction 

The Trimplet 

Nevertheless 

Six Who Pass While the Lintels 

Boil 
Medicine Show 

Vol. 2— More Portmanteau Plays 

Introduction 

The Lady of the Weeping Wil- 
low Tree 
The Very Naked Boy 
Jonathan Makes a Wish 

Vol. S—Portmanteau Adapta^ 
tions 

Introduction 

Gammer Gurton's Needle 

The Birthday of the Infanta 

"Seventeen" 

Each of the above three volumes handsomely 
bound and illustrated. Per volum.e net $1.75 



STEWART & KIDD CO., PUBLISHERS 



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MORE 
PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 



BY 

STUART WALKER 

Author of Portmanteau Plays 



Edited, and with an Introduction by 

EDWARD HALE BIERSTADT 




ILLUSTRATED 



CINCINNATI 
STEWART ^ KIDD COMPANY 

1919 



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Copyright, 1919, by 

STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 

All Rights Reserved 

Copyright in England 



All public performances of these 
plays are forbidden, and all dra- 
matic and producing rights are 
reserved by the author, Stuart 
Walker, who may be ad- 
dressed at 304 Carnegie 
Hall, New York City 



*t(^ 2/ '919 



©CI, A5 30 9 65 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Stuart Walker with the Working Model of 

His Portmanteau Theatre . . . Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

The Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree, Act 

HI 34 

The Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree, Act 
III 63 

The Very Naked Boy 80 

Jonathan Makes a Wish, Act I 130 

Jonathan Makes a Wish, Act II . . . . . 149 



INTRODUCTION 



INTRODUCTION 

During the period which has elapsed between 
the publication of Portmanteau Plays, and that of 
the present volume our country entered upon the 
greatest war In history, and emerged victorious. 
It is far too early to estimate what effect that war 
has had or may have upon all art In general, and 
upon the dramatic and theatric arts In particular, 
but there is every indication that the curtain is 
about to rise on the great romantic revival which 
we have watched and waited for, and of which 
Stuart Walker has been one of the major prophets. 

During the actual period of the war many 
of the creative and interpretative artists of the 
theater were engaged either directly in army work 
or in one of its auxiliary branches. It is amusing 
to recall that the present writer met Schuyler 
Ladd serving as Mess Sergeant for a Base Hos- 
pital in France, Alexander Wollcott, late dramatic 
critic of the New York Times, attached to the 
Stars and Stripes in Paris, and Douglas Stuart, 
the London producer. In an English hospital at 
Etretat, the while he himself was serving as an en- 
listed man on the staff of the same hospital. 
These are minor Instances, but when they have 
been multiplied several hundred times one begins 
to see how closely the actor, the critic, and the 
producer were Involved in the struggle. Again 
the problem of providing proper entertainment 
for the troops was, and still is, a serious one. In 
the great number of cases it seems highly prob- 

V 



INTRODUCTION 



able that the entertainment along such lines done 
by the men themselves was far more effective 
than that provided by outside organizations. 
More than once, however, it appeared to the 
writer that here was a field especially suited to the 
Portmanteau Theater and to its repertory. The 
question of transportation, always a crucial point 
with such a venture, was no more difficult than 
that presented by many companies already In the 
field, and doing immensely inferior work. My 
return to America put me in possession of the 
facts of the matter, and without desiring in any 
way to cast blame, much less to indict, or to em- 
phasize unduly a relatively unimportant point, it 
seems only fitting that there should be included in 
this record the reasons for what has seemed to 
many of us a lost opportunity. They are at least 
much more brief than the apologia which precedes 
them. 

The Portmanteau Theater^ its repertory of 
forty-eight plays, and its trained company, was 
offered for war purposes under the following con- 
ditions: no royalty was to be paid for any of the 
plays, no salary was to be paid Mr. Walker; the 
company was to go wherever sent, whether in or 
out of shell fire, in France or in England; the 
only stipulation being that the members of the 
company should be remunerated at the same rate 
paid an enlisted man in the United States army, 
and that the principal members should receive the 
pay of subalterns. On the whole an arrangement 
so generous that it is almost absurd. To this 
offer the Y. M. C. A. turned a deaf ear. Their 
attention was concentrated on vaudeville at the 

vi 



INTRODUCTION 



moment, and with one hand they covered their 
eyes while with the other they clutched their purse 
strings. The War Camp Community Service 
could see no way in which the Theater could func- 
tion for the men either at home or abroad. The 
Povtmanteau was, in a word, too " high-brow " a 
venture for them. The reader is referred to the 
Appendix of this volume showing the repertory 
in use at that time. Another official contented 
himself with the statement that the problem of 
transportation involved rendered the project im- 
practicable. The matter is too lengthy to discuss 
here, but the writer, who was able to observe the 
situation at first hand, knows this to be an error. 
The navy then asked for plans and estimates so 
that a number of Portmanteau Theaters might be 
constructed aboard the ships. Mr. Walker of- 
fered to put all his patents at the complete dis- 
posal of the Navy Department, and himself was 
ready to draw plans and make suggestions. The 
navy approved the idea, and with sublime assur- 
ance requested Mr. Walker to proceed with the 
work of construction — at his own expense. It 
was impossible; the money could not be afforded, 
and the venture was abandoned. It is therefore 
very evident that there was an opportunity, and 
that that opportunity was lost; but it was not the 
Portmanteau which lost It. At any rate we are 
left free to take up the history of Mr. Walker's 
theater and his plays at the point where we left 
off in the first book of the series. 

The close of the highly successful season at the 
Princess Theater In New York, the winter of 
19 1 5-1 9 1 6, was followed by twelve weeks on the 

vii 



INTRODUCTION 



road, three of which were spent in Chicago, and 
then by thirteen weeks in Indianapolis. It was 
in this last city that the production of the adapta- 
tion of Booth Tarkington's book, " Seventeen," 
changed all plans by its instant popularity. On 
the way East, a stop was made in Chicago, and 
before that city had time to do much more than 
voice its enthusiasm, the company left for New 
York. During the fall of 19 17 Seventeen was 
played regularly, with the addition of some spe- 
cial performances of the repertory. Seventeen 
was played in New York for two hundred and 
fifty-eight performances (Chicago had already 
had one hundred), and the special performances 
of The Book of Job were renewed in the spring. 
It was during the next fall, that of 19 18, that a 
second Seventeen company was sent out on the 
road. That company is still out, the total play- 
ing time for the work since its production being 
(April, 1919) just one hundred and four weeks. 
The next summer, 19 18, included a repertory 
season of thirteen weeks, again at Indianapolis, 
and four in Cincinnati, while the following winter, 
just past, claimed ten weeks of repertory at the 
Punch and Judy Theater in New York. To sum 
up in brief then — Mr. Walker has, beginning 
In the spring of 19 16 and ending in the spring of 
19 19, played seventy-six weeks of repertory, In 
which he has produced forty-eight plays. This 
does not include the Seventeen run which, as I 
have said, totals one hundred and four weeks to 
date. It Is safe to claim that this represents as 
successful repertory work as has been done In the 

vlli 



INTRODUCTION 



United States so far. We shall, however, return 
to that presently. 

In the fall of 19 17, so Important to the Port- 
manteau company, a change of management was 
Instituted, by which the following staff came Into 
control: Stage Director — Gregory Kelly: Stage 
Manager — Morgan Farley: Musical Director 
■ — Michel Bernstein: Manager ^ — Harold Hol- 
steln: Press Representative — Alta May Cole- 
man: Treasurer — Walter Herzbrun. The 
changes were excellent, and were thoroughly jus- 
tified In their results. An arrangement was made 
with the Shuberts, whereby booking was greatly 
facilitated, and with Its structure thus reinforced, 
the Theater was In an excellent position to " carry 
on.'' 

It may be remembered by those who read the 
first book of the Portmanteau Series that in my 
introduction I placed the greater portion of my 
emphasis on the theatrical side; that Is, the Port- 
manteau as a portable theater rather than as a 
repertory company. It is my Intention here to 
reverse the process, and this for two reasons. 
First: Mr. Walker has in the last two years by 
no means confined himself to the Portmanteau 
stage. The recent run at the Punch and Judy 
Theater in New York was upon a full size stage, 
and this was not at all an exception. The Port- 
manteau was, and is, an idea, but that idea has 
no very definite connection with repertory as such. 
There Is no longer the need. In this particular 
instance, that there once was, for the invariable 
use of the Portmanteau^ except as convenience rc- 

Ix 



INTRODUCTION 



quires. At the very beginning, when the company 
often played for private persons, the portable 
stage was indispensable. But so thoroughly did 
the Portmanteau idea justify itself that from be- 
ing a crutch it grew into a handy staff, always 
valuable, but no longer essential. All that has 
been said of it, and of its possibilities, is quite as 
true today as ever it was, but now having proved 
his original thesis, if so it may be called, Mr. 
Walker may well be content to work out the future 
gradually and in his own way. Second : the reper- 
tory idea is certainly of infinitely more importance 
than any theatrical device or contrivance, however 
interesting and valuable such a departure may be 
in itself. As to any difference in the acting ne- 
cessitated by the change from a small to a large 
stage that amounts to little. It is entirely a dif- 
ference in quality, an ability to temper the inter- 
pretation to the surroundings, and as such would 
apply as readily to the staging and setting of a 
play as to the acting itself. On a large stage one 
might take three steps to convey an impression 
where on a small stage one step would produce 
the same effect. An arch or pylon would obvi- 
ously have to be of greater proportions on a large 
stage than on a small one. Yet in both these in- 
stances the ultimate effect is precisely the same. 
Let us turn then to a consideration of the Port- 
manteau, not as a theater, but as a repertory com- 
pany. 

There is certainly no space here, and just as 
certainly no necessity, for dwelling long upon the 
prime importance of repertory. Several excellent 
books have been written on that a-bsorbing subject, 

X 



INTRODUCTION 



and. we may surely take for granted that which 
we know beyond all doubt to be the truth, namely, 
that repertory as opposed to the " long run " and 
to the " star " system is the ultimate solution of 
a most vexatious and perplexing problem — how 
to change the modern theater from an industry to 
an art. The disadvantages of the present mode 
of procedure are too evident to call for recapitu- 
lation; witness the results obtained. On the other 
hand there can be no question that there Is a prac- 
ticable and simple panacea in repertory; see what 
has been done by the Abbey company in Dublin, 
by Miss Horniman's players in Manchester, by 
the Scottish Repertory Theater, on a smaller scale, 
in Glasgow, by John Drinkwater's repertory thea- 
ter in Birmingham, concerning which I have, un- 
fortunately, no exact data, but which I understand 
Is doing remarkable work with distinct success, 
and by the Portmanteau company in the United 
States. It would be well also to include Charles 
Frohman's season at the Duke of York's Reper- 
tory Theater in London; in fact the inclusion of 
this seventeen weeks' season would be inevitable. 
Where the experiment has failed it has failed 
for reasons which did not, in any way, shape or 
manner, invalidate the principle at stake. Thus, 
to cite the great example on our own side of the 
water, the ISfew Theater was doomed to failure 
from the very start in the fact that it was born 
crippled. It may be restated to advantage, just 
here, that from the spring of 191 6 to the spring 
of 19 19, a period of three years, Mr. Walker 
has produced forty-eight plays, has given seventy- 
six weeks of repertory, and has had a nearly un- 

xi 



INTRODUCTION 



broken run of one hundred and four weeks with 
one play which has been commercially successful 
beyond the others. Of the forty-eight plays pro- 
duced during this time eighteen had never been 
seen before on any stage; four were entirely new 
to America (except for a possible itinerant ama- 
teur performance) ; and twenty-six were revivals, 
modern, semi-modern, and classical. It is my 
belief that this record will take a creditable 
position in the history of American repertory. 
Abroad, however, its place is less secure, but 
even here the Portmanteau is by no means snowed 
under. 

In the other great English speaking country 
there are four outstanding examples of repertory 
work, as has already been stated. On the Conti- 
nent the situation is entirely different; there is 
no '' problem " there, for the repertory theater 
has long been an established fact. France, in the 
Comedie-FratK^aise, and Germany, in several of 
her theaters before the war, merely provide us 
with a criterion. In Great Britain, however, and 
in America, we are in the process of building and 
adjusting, so that the examples of one will rea- 
sonably affect the other. At the risk of being 
misunderstood we shall pause long enough to call 
attention to the Irving Place Theatre,^ of New 
York, a German house supporting German plays, 
and attended very largely by a German clientele, 
but notwithstanding all this a repertory theater of 
standing, and of some distinction, from which we 
might learn several useful lessons. However, it 

1 Since America's entrance in the War given over to the 
" movies." 

XU 



INTRODUCTION 



is with the Anglo-American stage that we have to 
do at the moment. 

Doubtless, first in Importance comes the Abbey 
Theater Company of Dublin. From December, 
1905, to December, 19 12, there were produced 
at the Abbey Theater (I am unfortunately unable 
to include the several important tours made) 
seventy-four plays, of which seven were transla- 
tions. Of the rest but few were revivals, as the 
history of the Irish literary movement will show. 
They were plays written especially for the theater, 
for particular audiences, and to achieve definite 
purpose as propaganda. Moreover, when the 
Abbey was tottering on the brink of failure, Miss 
Hornlman came to the rescue with a substantial 
subsidy which enabled the theater not only to pro- 
ceed, but finally to establish itself on a sound run- 
ning basis. Mr. Walker's company has had to 
fight Its own way from the very start. 

In Manchester, Miss Horniman's own reper- 
tory company at the Midland Theater and finally 
at the Gaiety has been distinctly and brilliantly 
successful. In a period of a little more than two 
years there were produced fifty-five plays; twenty- 
eight new, seventeen revivals of modern English 
plays, five modern translations, and five classics. 
This is a repertory as well balanced as it is wide. 
In 1 9 10, however, there was inaugurated the 
practise of producing each play for a run of one 
week, so that from that time on the theater was 
open to the criticism of being not a repertory in 
the fullest sense of the term, but a short run 
theater. But for that matter, I do not think that 
there is a repertory theater either in England or in 

xiii 



INTRODUCTION 



America which fulfills the ideal conditions set 
down by William Archer who had in mind, as he 
wrote, the repertory theater of the Continent. 

" When we speak of a repertory, we mean a 
number of plays always ready for performance, 
with nothing more than a ' run through ' rehearsal, 
which, therefore, can be, and are, acted In such 
alternation that three, four or five different plays 
may be given in the course of a week. New 
plays are from time to time added to the repertory, 
and those of them which succeed may be per- 
formed fifty, seventy, a hundred times, or even 
more, in the course of one season; but no play 
is ever performed more than two or three times 
in uninterrupted succession." ^ 

This applies exactly to the Comedie-Frangalse, 
which, in the year 1909, presented one hundred 
and fifteen plays, eighteen of which were per- 

1 Mr. John Palmer, in his book, " The Future of the Theater," 
gives the following as the programme for the then, 1913, pro- 
jected National Theater. The war intervened, however, and 
the venture has been lost sight of for the moment. This state- 
ment is even more reasonable than that of Mr. Archer, for this 
is intended for practical use in England while his was merely 
taken from France. 

"... it seems desirable to state that a repertory theater 
should be held to mean a theater able to present at least two 
different plays of full length at evening performances in each 
completed week during the annual season, and at least three 
different plays at evening performances and matinees taken to- 
gether . . . and the number of plays presented in a year should 
not be less than twenty-five. A play of full length means a play 
occupying at least two-thirds of the whole time of any perform- 
ance. But two two-act plays, or three one-act plays, composing 
a single programme, should, for the purposes of this statute, be 
reckoned as equivalent to a play of full length." 

As Mr, Palmer remarks " this statute is both elastic and water- 
tight." 

E. H. B. 

xiv 



INTRODUCTION 



formed for the first time, the remainder being a 
part of the regular body of the repertory of that 
theater. In the first decade of the present cen- 
tury there were no less than two hundred and 
eighty-two plays added to the repertory of the 
Comedie. It may be of service to remember, 
however, that the Comedie-Francaise was estab- 
lished by royal decree in 1680. If the Globe 
Theater of Shakespeare's day had lived and pros- 
pered up to the present we might have an example 
to match that of France. 

It is probable that if one were to use the phrase 
" repertory in America " the wise ones of the 
theater would raise their eye-brows stiffly and 
remark, " There is none." That would be nearly 
true, but not altogether so. It is my desire here 
to sketch in brief the early beginnings of what has 
been termed the " independent theater " move- 
ment,^ from which repertory in this country un- 
questionably grew, up to the time of the estab- 
lishment of the " little theaters " which now dot 
the country, and into which movement that of the 
" independent theater " eventually merged. 

In 1887 there was inaugurated by A. M. Pal- 
mer at the Madison Square Theater, of which he 
was manager at that time, a series of " author's 
matinees " which appear to have been in some 
sense try-outs for a possible repertory season. 
Only three plays were produced, however, before 
Mr. Palmer decided against the scheme as im- 
practicable. It is interesting to note that these 
three plays were all by American authors — How- 
ells, Matthews, and Lathrop. The attempt was 

^ See Appendix for complete repertories. 

XV 



INTRODUCTION 



actually not repertory In the strict sense, but It un- 
doubtedly marks a tendency, slight, but evident, 
to incline in the right direction. 

Some four years later, in the fall of 1891, a 
Mr. McDowell, son of General McDowell of 
Civil War fame, started the Theater of Arts and 
Letters with the idea of bringing literature and the 
drama into closer relationship. Five plays were 
produced, and among the names of the authors 
(again they were all natives) one finds several 
which have since become famous. Commercially, 
the venture was a total failure, and the authors 
did not even collect their full royalties. A short 
tour was made with several of the more successful 
plays, one by Clyde Fitch (a one-act which was 
afterwards expanded into The Moth and the 
Flame) ^ one by Richard Harding Davis, and one 
by Brander Matthews. All three of these were 
one-act. American authors were willing enough 
to write plays, but they apparently could not suc- 
ceed, except in isolated instances, in writing good 
ones. There was evidently an utter dearth of 
suitable material. Nevertheless, when foreign 
plays were put on no better fortune ensued, un- 
less they represented the old school of pseudo 
melodrama, and farce adapted from the French 
and German, such as Augustin Daly delighted 
in. Daly too had discovered that to encourage 
the American playwright was to court disaster. 

In 1897 The Criterion, a New York review of 
rather eccentric merit, endeavored to establish the 
Criterion Independent Theater modeled on the 
Theatre-Libre of Antoine. A company was re- 
cruited, headed by E. J. Henley, and performances 

xvi 



INTRODUCTION 



were given at first the Madison Square Theater, 
and then the Berkeley Lyceum. It was frankly in- 
tended that the appeal should be to a small, select 
audience, and. In spite of the jeers of the press, 
five plays were produced — one Norwegian, one 
Italian, one French, one Spanish, and one Amer- 
ican. A glance through the list shows us that 
the American play, by Augustus Thomas, Is the 
only one which has not since entered into the 
permanent literature of the stage. Internal dif- 
ferences, and imperfect rehearsals combined to 
overthrow the venture which, after one season, 
was abandoned. The success of the last produc- 
tion, however. El Gran Galeoto, Inspired Mr. 
John Blair to produce Ibsen's Ghosts with Miss 
Mary Shaw at the Carnegie Lyceum in 1899. 
From this sprang The Independent Theater, gen- 
erously backed financially by Mr. George Peabody 
Eustis of Washington. 

The list of the patrons of this theater reads like 
a chapter from " Who's Who." Many of the 
men associated with the plan gave their services 
free or at a nominal cost. The three persons 
more directly responsible for the artistic side of 
the work were Charles Henry Meltzer, John 
Blair, and Vaughan Kester, while among the pa- 
trons were W. D. Howells, Bronson Howard, E. 
C. Stedman, E. H. Sothern, Charles and Daniel 
Frohman, and Sir Henry Irving. Six plays were 
given, this time none of them of American origin. 
The press and critics were most bitter in their 
denunciation of these foreign importations, as 
they had been on the previous occasion. There 
was, however, on the part of the audiences a defi- 

xvii 



INTRODUCTION 



nite tendency to let drop the scales from their 
eyes, and to awake to the new forces in the drama 
and the theater as represented by Ibsen, Hervieu, 
the Theatre-Libre, and the Independent Theater. 
But in spite of all this, one season's work saw the 
conclusion of the project. A part of the reper- 
tory was given in other cities, notably Boston and 
Washington, but, though a very real interest was 
aroused, it was not sufficient to permit the com- 
pany to continue. About two thousand dollars 
represented the deficit at the end of the season; 
by no means a discreditable balance, albeit on the 
wrong side of the ledger, when one considers the 
circumstances. The actual results of the work 
are summed up in a privately printed pamphlet 
written by Mr. Meltzer than whom no one was 
more closely in touch with the whole independent 
movement. 

*' What have the American ' Independents ' 
achieved by their efforts? 

*' They have succeeded, thanks to Mr. George 
Peabody Eustis, the general manager of the 
scheme, in giving twenty-two performances of 
plays recognized everywhere abroad as charac- 
teristic, interesting, and literary. 

*' They have extended the ' Independent ' move- 
ment from New York to Boston and Washington. 

" They have encouraged at least one ' regular * 
manager to announce the production next season 
of an Ibsen play. 

** They have revived discussion of the general 
tendencies of modern drama. 

" They have interested, and occasionally 
charmed, an intelligent minority of playgoers, 

xviii 



INTRODUCTION 



who have grown weary of the rank insipidity, vul- 
garity, and improbabihty of current drama. 

" They have bored, angered, and distressed a 
less intelligent majority of playgoers and critics. 

" They have discovered at least one new actress 
of unusual worth. 

" They have prepared the way, at a by no means 
inconsiderable cost of time, thought, and money, 
for future, and perhaps, more prosperous move- 
ments aiming at the reform of the American 
stage." 

Coming at the time it did, sponsored by the best 
minds In America, and worked to its conclusion by 
whole hearted enthusiasts. The Independent Thea- 
ter did, beyond all doubt, have a very vitalizing 
effect on both the stage and the drama of this 
country. The next step, perhaps the climactic one 
of the series, was longer in coming (1909). 

The New Theater has been our greatest at- 
tempt and our greatest failure. The details of 
these two seasons have been placed before the 
public so many times that there Is no necessity for 
doing more here than suggesting a broad outline. 
If the enterprise had, from Its very inception, 
been in the hands of capable men who knew their 
work, instead of being handicapped by wealthy 
amateurs the history of a failure might never 
have been written. In Its first season The New 
Theater presented thirteen plays at Intervals of a 
fortnight. Of these, four were classics, three 
were original works by native authors, and two 
by contemporary British dramatists. During the 
second season, at the end of which the idea was 
given up and the New Theater abandoned, eleven 

xix 



INTRODUCTION 



plays were produced; six of these were of British 
origin, semi-modern; one was a classic; three were 
Belgian, and one was American. I have counted 
in this season, two plays produced the season be- 
fore, the only revivals. Altogether then, twenty- 
two plays were given, only five of which can be 
considered as home products. Mr. Ames, the 
Director, was balked at every turn by the com- 
bined forces of Fifth Avenue and Wall Street, 
while the outrageous and impossible construction 
of the theater itself proved an insurmountable 
handicap. In addition it was now found almost 
impossible to Induce the American dramatist to 
turn from the great profits of the long run Broad- 
way theaters to the acceptance of one hundred and 
fifty dollars a performance at the New Theater. 
There was something to be said on both sides. 
The New Theater was a splendid and costly at- 
tempt, and it taught us several invaluable lessons, 
chief among them the occasional unimportance of 
money. 

Probably next in order comes the short reper- 
tory of Miss Grace George at the Playhouse in 
19 1 5 and 19 17. This lasted for about one sea- 
son and a half, and, while there was promise of 
continuation, the project was finally abandoned. 
It is only fair to say that Miss George worked 
under the peculiar disadvantage of entire lack of 
sympathy, and Indeed, open antagonism as well, 
on the part of several of her most important 
confreres. The real trouble seemed to be one 
of those that affected the New Theater^ that Is, 
Miss George was totally unable to secure Amer- 
ican plays for her purposes. In the period of 

XX 



INTRODUCTION 



her project she produced seven plays; five the 
first year, and two the next. Of these, five were 
modern British plays, one was a translation from 
the French, and one was semi-modern American. 
Again it will be observed that American plays 
were simply not forthcoming, a condition widely 
different from that obtaining during the nineties 
when the Theater of Arts and Letters^ and the 
Criterion Independent held their short sway. 
Miss George's effort was distinctly worth while, 
but In the end there was added only another grave- 
stone to the cemetery of buried hopes. ^ 

With the advent of the " little theater " move- 
ment, from about 1905, there are many small 
companies and theaters which can, In a broad 
sense, fairly be termed repertory. To discuss 
any number of them would require a book In It- 
self, and the reader is referred to '' The Insurgent 
Theater '^ by Professor Dickenson as the work 
most nearly fulfilling this need. Probably the 
Washington Square Players of New York are 
typical, more or less, of them all, and their reper- 
tory for two years is given in the Appendix. 
Aside from the natural conditions resulting from 
the war, one reason of their failure seems to 
have been their pernicious desire to be " differ- 
ent " at any cost. In spite of their excellent work 
they ultimately found that cost to be prohibitive, 
but the discovery was made too late.^ The ma- 
jority of the little theaters are, however, too en- 

1 Announcement has just been made that Miss George will 
continue her repertory during the season of 1919-1920. 

2 They only failed for $3000, however: the rent of a Broad- 
way theater for a week. 

xxi 



INTRODUCTION 



tirely provincial in their appeal to warrant an 
assumption of any great influence, in spite of their 
vital and unquestionable importance.^ 

It will be observed that in speaking of Stuart 
Walker's work I have used the phrase repertory 
company^ not, repertory theater. That is, of 
course, part of the secret. A theater anchored 
to one spot is obviously at a disadvantage. It 
cannot seek its audience, but must sit with what 
patience and capital it has at its disposal, and wait 
for the audience to come to it. With a touring 
company the odds are more even. An unsuccess- 
ful month in one city may be made up by a suc- 
cessful one in another. The type of play that 
captivates the west may not go at all in the east, 
and the other way about. There are plays now 
on the road, and which have been there literally 
for years, doing excellent business, which have 
never ventured to storm the very rocky coast 
bounding New York. And there are plays which 
have had crowded houses in the metropolis which 
have slumped, and deservedly so, most dismally 
when they were taken out where audiences were 
possessed of a clearer vision. Hence it is easy 
to see that Mr. Walker, playing in both the east 
and the west, in small cities and in large ones, 
can do what the New Theater and the Playhouse 
could not do. True, they could send their com- 
panies out on tour, but the New Theater with its 
huge stage and panoramic scenery could find but 

1 This statement hardly applies to The Neighborhood Thea- 
ter, or to that successor to The Washington Square Players, The 
Theater Guild, the work of which at the Garrick Theater, New 
York, during the first part of 1919 has been excellent in the 
very highest degree. 

xxii 



INTRODUCTION 



few theaters which could house it, and the whole 
idea of both that and Miss George's company 
was a fixed repertory theater. Indeed in both of 
them the faults of the " star " system were never 
wholly absent. 

The facts that I have been able to give here 
seem to point to but one conclusion. That is, 
that Stuart Walker's repertory company stands 
numerically on a par with anything else of the kind 
ever attempted in the United States, and that it is 
not unworthy of comparison with the best reper- 
tory work in England. It must be borne in mind 
that, in some measure, all this has been done on a 
fairly small scale. There has not been the money 
at hand to do it otherwise, nor has there been 
the necessity. The company may be compared 
better with the Gaiety of Manchester than with 
the Duke of York's Theater. And too, as with 
the Gaiety^ many of the players have been rela- 
tively unknown before their advent on the Port- 
manteau stage. It is the definite mission, or some 
part of it at any rate, of the repertory company to 
encourage new dramatists, new players, and new 
stage effects when such encouragement is advis- 
able. To be merely different is by no means to be 
worth while. 

The three plays included In this volume have all 
been presented successfully both in the east and 
in the west. The two long plays — The Lady of 
the Weeping Willow Tree and Jonathan Makes a 
Wish — both have the distinction of being popu- 
lar with audiences and unpopular with critics, a 
condition of affairs not as unique as it might seem. 
As for the third. The Very Naked Boy, it is a thor- 

xxiii 



INTRODUCTION 



oughly delightful trifle, unimportant as drama, 
yet very perfect in Itself, and has been liked by 
nearly everyone. Combining, as it does, comedy 
and sentiment, it possesses all the elements that go 
to make for success with the average audience. 

The Lady of the Weeping fVillow Tree is 
founded on an old Japanese legend, how old no 
one knows. Mr. Walker became Interested in 
Japanese folk-lore through a collection of bal- 
lads; it is amusing to observe how his fondness 
for ballads has followed him through all his work, 
and this play was the result. From the first it 
went well. Apparently no one could resist the 
pathos of the intensely human story which culmi- 
nated in so tragic a form. One might think that 
the appeal in a play of this type, written by an 
author so well known as an artist in stage-craft, 
would be largely visual. While that appeal is 
unquestionably there in abundance, the real essence 
of the tale is the vitally human quality of its char- 
acters. One is indeed inclined to believe that we 
take our pleasures sadly, when he has seen an 
audience quite dissolved in tears at a perform- 
ance of this play, and all the while enjoying them- 
selves unutterably. It is a drama of Imagination 
and of emotion. The cold, hard, and more often 
than not deceiving light of the intellect plays but a 
small part. It Is the human heart with its pas- 
sions, its fears, its regrets, and its aspirations that 
concerns us here; not the human mind with its 
essentially microcosmic point of view, and its petty, 
festering egoism. The play is beautiful because 
it is true, and equally it is true because it is beau- 
tiful. It seems to me quite the best and soundest 

xxiv 



INTRODUCTION 



piece of work Mr. Walker has done so far, though 
he himself prefers his later play, Jonathan Makes 

a Wish. 

This last play is more realistic — stupid term 1 
— than anything of a serious nature that the au- 
thor has so far attempted. It is, however, the 
realism of Barrie rather than that of Brieux, and 
this at any rate is consoling. The first act is ex- 
traordinary, splendid in thought, in technique, and 
in execution. Therein lies the trouble, if trouble 
there be. Neither of the two acts following can 
reach the level of the first, and with the opening 
of the second act the play gradually, though hardly 
perceptibly, declines, not in interest, but in 
strength. The transposition of the character of 
the Tramp from an easy going good nature in 
the first act to that of a Dickens villain in the 
second may require explanation. The last sensa- 
tion the boy has is that of the blow on his head, 
and his last visualization is that of the^ Tramp's 
face bending over him. Thus, in his delirium, the 
two would inevitably be associated. The story of 
the delirium, the second act, is peculiarly well 
done. One feels the slight haziness of outline, 
the great consequence of actually inconsequential 
events, the morbid terror lurking always in the 
near background, which are a very part and parcel 
of that strange psychological condition which is 
here made to play a spiritual part. The last act 
suffers for want of material. In reality, all that 
is necessary is to wind up the play speedily and 
happily. It seems probable that the Introduction 
of the deliclously charming Frenchwoman, played 
so dehghtfuUy by Margaret Mower, would give 

XXV 



INTRODUCTION 



the needed color and substance to this portion. 
As It Is, one feels a little something lacking — but 
only a little. That the play Is, as one pseudo- 
critic remarked, an argument In favor of Infant 
playwrights, is too absurd to discuss. If It argues 
at all, it Is that the relationship between the child 
world and the adult must be democratic, not ty- 
rannic, and that flowers grow, like weeds, only 
when they are encouraged, not trod upon. The 
play Is Interesting, true, and imaginative to a de- 
gree ; if It Is not wholly satisfactory, it but partakes 
of the faults of virtue. Audiences, young, old, 
metropolitan and urban, have responded to the 
work in a manner which left no doubt of their 
approval. In New York It was slow in taking 
hold, and unfortunately the company was obliged 
to leave to fill other engagements just at the time 
when a more definite success was at hand. In 
the west the spirit of the thing caught at once; 
there was no hesitation there. 

From the beginning there has been a very defi- 
nite plan in Mr. Walker's mind as to what his 
objective point was to be, and especially in view 
of what I have said of his company in connection 
with repertory it may be interesting to suggest 
the outline of that plan here. This is no less than 
to establish in some city a permanent repertory 
theater and company, and to use the Portmanteau 
Theater and company for touring purposes. It is 
an amusing thought; the little theater would shoot 
out from under the wing of Its parent as a raiding 
party detaches itself from its company, but the 
consequences would be, one hopes, less destructive 
on both sides. The thought, however, is really 

xxvi 



INTRODUCTION 



much more than amusing; It is of very real con- 
sequence and importance. It will readily be seen 
that in this we have a combination of the advan- 
tages of both the stationary and the touring rep- 
ertory company, and hence, double the chances of 
success. And Mr. Walker would by no means be 
restricted to one Portmanteau Theater. If con- 
ditions warranted it he could as easily construct 
and send out a dozen on the road, taking his work 
into every nook and corner of the theater-loving 
country. In fact the ramifications of the idea are 
so vast that it is useless to endeavor to do more 
than suggest them here. The reader will see for 
himself what great possibilities are involved, and 
what an effect this might have on all repertory 
work in America. 

During the last two years the work of Mr. 
Walker's company has improved in every way. 
The addition of new members, such as Margaret 
Mower, and particularly George Gaul, whose 
performance in The Book of Job was, in my opin- 
ion, one of the finest ever seen on the American 
stage, has naturally served to strengthen the fab- 
ric greatly. The older members of the company, 
Gregory Kelly, McKay Morris, Edgar Stehli and 
many others, have all improved in their work, 
increasing in assurance and finish. The success 
that has attended the fortunes of the theater has 
made possible finer stage effects (the Dunsany pro- 
ductions have been immensely improved) and the 
repertory has been greatly enriched by some really 
fine plays, and has been enhanced by others of a 
more popular character. One thing must be said, 
however, in all fairness. It has seemed to the 

xxvii 



INTRODUCTION 



writer that of late there has been an increasing 
tendency on the part of Mr. Walker's scenic art- 
ists and costume designers to fall away from the 
plain surfaces and unbroken lines of the new stage- 
craft, and to achieve an effect which one can only 
characterize as " spotty." This can best be ap- 
preciated by those who know the two American 
productions of Dunsany's one-act play, The Tents 
of the Arabs. I am rather regretfully of the 
opinion that, aside from the actual playing and 
reading of the parts, Sam Hume's production was 
superior to that of Mr. Walker. An opulence of 
variegated colors does not always suggest as much 
as flat masses. The set used by Mrs. Hapgood 
in her production of Torrence's Simon the Cyre- 
nian Illustrates excellently the desired result. 
It Is, however, Stuart Walker's privilege to adapt 
the new Ideas, and to make such use of the old, as 
seems best to him. One is sometimes inclined to 
miss, nevertheless, the simplicity of his earlier 
work, especially When It Is compared with the 
splendor, not always well used or well advised, 
of his later productions. His company has al- 
ways read beautifully, and its reading Is now bet- 
ter than ever. The only adverse criticism, if ad- 
verse criticism there be at all, lies against the Stage 
Director himself. I am especially glad to be able 
to say this, for the producer whose work Is too 
good, too smooth. Is surely stumbling to a fall. 
The very fact that there Is definite room for Im- 
provement in the Portmanteau presentations, 
leads one to feel, knowing the record of the com- 
pany, that these Improvements will be made. 
To return for a moment to an earlier phase of 

xxviii 



INTRODUCTION 



our discussion, It may be both Interesting and prof- 
itable to note the fact that while the Abbey, ^ the 
Manchester, and the New Theaters were all aided 
by material subsidies, the Portmanteau has stood 
on Its own legs, albeit they wabbled a trifle on oc- 
casion, from the very start. A little, but only a 
little, money has been borrowed, and there has 
been just one gift, that of $5000. This last was 
accepted for the reason that it would enable the 
Theater to mount sets and costume plays In a 
rather better fashion than heretofore. While it 
was not absolutely essential to the continued ex- 
istence of the Portmanteau It made presently pos- 
sible productions which otherwise would have 
been postponed indefinitely; in British army slang 
it would be called '' bukshee," meaning extra, like 
the thirteenth cake in the dozen. The record of 
the Portmanteau Is its own, and that of Its many 
friends who have been generous In contributing 
that rarest of all gifts, sympathetic understanding. 
Before withdrawing my intrusive finger from 
the Portmanteau pie I should like to pay a small 
tribute to Stuart Walker himself. I do not think 
I have ever known a man who gave more unspar- 
ingly of himself In all his work. That dragon of 
the theater, the expense account, has often neces- 
sitated someone shouldering the work of half a 
dozen who were not there. Always It Is Mr. 
Walker who has taken the task upon his back, 
cheerfully and willingly, and despite physical Ills, 
under which a less determined man would have 
succumbed. His never wavering belief In his work 
and his ability to do that work have brought him 
through many a pitfall. It Is not a petty vanity, 

xxlx 



INTRODUCTION 



but the strong conceit of the artist; that which most 
of us call by the vague term ideals. The spirit 
of the Portmanteau is to be found alike in its of- 
fices and on its stage; a spirit of unselfish belief 
that somehow, somewhere, we all shall " live hap- 
pily ever after " if only we do the work we are 
set to do faithfully here and now. The theater, 
the organization which has that behind it, in con- 
junction with a keenly intelligent co-operation or 
team-play, will take a great deal of punishment 
before it goes down. Mistakes have been made, 
of course; otherwise neither producer nor com- 
pany were human; but it is in the acknowledgment 
and rectification of errors that men become great. 

The repertory theater, the new drama, and 
stage craft, have an able ally in the Portmanteau, 
We may look far afield for that elixir which will 
transmute the base metal of the commercial thea- 
ter to the bright gold of art, but unless we remem- 
ber that the pot of treasure is to be found at this 
end of the rainbow, and not the other, our search 
will be in vain. 

Edward Hale Bierstadt. 

New York City, 
April, 19 19. 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

I wish to acknowledge with gratitude the assistance 
given me by Mr. Brander Matthews, Mr. Montrose 
Moses, and by Mr. Charles Henry Meltzer in obtaining 
data, verifying dates and names, and by their kindly ad- 
vice. 

E. H. B. 

XXX 



THE PROLOGUE TO THE 
PORTMANTEAU THEATER 



THE PROLOGUE 



As the lights in the theater are lowered the 
voice of Memory is heard as she passes through 
the audience to the stage, 

MEMORY 

Once upon a time, but not so very long ago, you 
very grown-ups believed In all true things. You 
believed until you met the Fourteen Doubters 
who were so positive In their unbelief that you 
weakly cast aside the things that made you 
happy for the hapless things that they were call- 
ing life. You were afraid or ashamed to per- 
sist in your old thoughts, and strong In your 
folly you discouraged your little boy, and other 
people's little boys from the pastimes they had 
loved. Yet all through the early days you had 
been surely building magnificent cities, and all 
about you laying out magnificent gardens, and, 
with an April pool you had made infinite seas 
where pirates fought or mermaids played In 
coral caves. Then came the Doubters, laugh- 
ing and jeering at you, and you let your cities, 
and gardens, and seas go floating in the air — 
unseen, unsung — wonderful cities, and gardens, 
and seas, peopled with the realest of peo- 
ple. ... So now you, and he, and I are met at 
the portals. Pass through them with me. I 
have something there that you think is lost. 
The key Is the tiny regret for the real things, 
the little regret that sometimes seems to weight 

3 



THE PROLOGUE 



your spirit at twilight, and compress all life into 
a moment's longing. Come, pass through. 
You cannot lose your way. Here are your 
cities, your gardens, and your April pools. 
Come through the portals of once upon a time, 
but not so very long ago — today — now I 

She passes through the soft blue curtains^ hut 
unless you are willing to follow her, turn back 
now. There are only play-things here. 



THE LADY OF THE WEEPING 
WILLOW TREE 

A Play in Three Acts 



Characters 

0-Sode-San, an old woman 

0-Katsu-San 

Obaa-San 

The Gaki of Kokoru, an eater of unrest 

RiKi, a poet 

AOYAGI 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 



ACT I 

[Before the House of Ohaa-San. At the right 
back is a weeping willow tree, at the left the^ 
simple little house of Ohaa-San. 
[O-Sode-San and O-Katsu-San enter, 

O-SODE-SAN 

Oil . . . 01! . . . Obaa-San! 

O-KATSU-SAN 

Obaa-San! . . . Grandmother! 

O-SODE-SAN 

She Is not there. 

O-KATSU-SAN 

Poor Obaa-San. 

O-SODE-SAN 

Why do you always pity Obaa-San? Are her 
clothes not whole ? Has she not her full store 
of rice? 

O-KATSU-SAN 

Ay! 

O-SODE-SAN 

Then what more can one want — a full hand, 
a full belly, and a warm body ! 

O-KATSU-SAN 

A full heart, perhaps. 

O-SODE-SAN 

What does Obaa-San know of a heart, silly 
0-Katsu? She has had no husband to die and 
leave her alone. She has had no child to die 
and leave her arms empty. 

O-KATSU-SAN 

Hal ! Hal ! She does not know. 

7 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

O-SODE-SAN 

She has had no lover to smile upon her and then- 
— pass on. 

O-KATSU-SAN 

But Obaa-San is not happy. 

O-SODE-SAN 

Pss-s! 

O-KATSU-SAN 

She may be lonely because she has never had 
any one to love or to love her. 

O-SODE-SAN 

How could one love Obaa-San? She is too 
hideous for love. She would frighten the chil- 
dren away — and even a drunken lover would 
laugh in her ugly face. Obaa-San I The 
grandmother I 

O-KATSU-SAN 

0-Sode, might we not be too cruel to her? 

O-SODE-SAN 

If we could not laugh at Obaa-San, how then 
could we laugh? She has been sent from the 
dome of the sky for our mirth. 

O-KATSU-SAN 

I do not know I I do not know I Sometimes I 
think I hear tears in her laugh ! 

O-SODE-SAN 

Pss-s! That is no laugh. Obaa-San cackles 
like an old hen. 

O-KATSU-SAN 

I think she is unhappy now and then — always, 
perhaps. 

O-SODE-SAN 

Has she not her weeping willow tree — the 
grandmother? 

8 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

O-KATSU-SAN 

Ay. She loves the tree. 

0-SODE-SAN 

The grandmother of the weeping willow tree! 
It's well for the misshapen, and the childless, 
and the loveless to have a tree to love. 
0-KATSU-SAN 

But, 0-Sode, the weeping willow tree can not 
love her. Perhaps even old Obaa-San longs 
for love. 

0-SODE-SAN 

Do we not come dally to her to talk to her? 
And to ask her all about her weeping willow 
tree? 

0-KATSU-SAN 

01 ! Obaa-San. 
[A sigh is heard. 

0-SODE-SAN 

What was that, 0-Katsu? 

0-KATSU-SAN 

Someone sighed — a deep, hard sigh. 

0-SODE-SAN 

Oi I Obaa-San I Grandmother I 
[The sigh is almost a moan, 

0-KATSU-SAN 

It seemed to come from the weeping willow tree. 

0-SODE-SAN 

0-Katsu I Perhaps some evil spirit haunts the 
tree. 

0-KATSU-SAN 

Some hideous Gaki I Like the Gaki of Kokoru 
— the evil ghost that can feed only on the un- 
rest of humans. Their unhapplness is his food. 
He has to find misery in order to live, and win 

9 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

his way back once rnore to humanity. To dif- 
ferent men he changes his shape at will, and 
sometimes is invisible. 

0-SODE-SAN 

Quick, Katsu, let us go to the shrine • — and pray 
— and pray. 

0-KATSU-SAN 

Ay. There ! 

[They go out. The Gaki appears, 

THE GAKI 

Why did you sigh? 

THE VOICE OF THE TREE 

Gaki of Kokoru! My heart hangs within 
me like the weight of years on Obaa-San. 

THE GAKI 

Why did you moan? 

THE TREE 

The tree is growing — and it tears my heart. 
THE GAKI 

1 live upon your unrest. Feed me ! Feed me I 
\_The tree sighs and moans and The Gaki seems 
transported with joy. 

THE TREE 

Please I Please ! Give me my freedom. 

THE GAKI 

Where then should I feed? Unless I feed on 
your unhappiness I should cease to live — and 
I must live. 

THE TREE 

Someone else, perchance, may suffer In my 
stead. 

THE GAKI 

I care not where or how I feed. I am in the 
sixth hell, and if I die in this shape I must re- 

10 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

main in this hell through all the eternities. 
One like me must feed his misery by making 
others miserable. I can not rise through the 
other five hells to human life unless I have hu- 
man misery for my food. 

THE TREE 

Oh, can't you feed on joy — on happiness, on 
faith? 
THE GAKI 

Faith? Yes, perhaps — but only on perfect 
faith. If I found perfect faith — ah, then — 
I dare not dream. — There Is no faith. 

THE TREE 

Do not make me suffer more. Let me enjoy 
the loveliness of things. 

THE GAKI 

Would you have someone else suffer In your 
stead? 

THE TREE 

Someone else — someone else — 

THE GAKI 

Ay — old Obaa-San — she whom they call the 

grandmother. 

[The Tree moans. 

THE GAKI 

She will suffer In your stead. 

THE TREE 

No! No! She loves me! She of all the 
world loves me ! No — not she I 

THE GAKI 

It shall be she! 

THE TREE 

I shall not leave I 

II 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

THE GAKI 

You give me better food than I have ever 
known. You wait! You wait I 

THE TREE 

Here comes Obaa-SanI Do not let her suffer 
for me I 

THE GAKI 

You shall be free — as free as anyone can be — 
when I have made the misery of Obaa-San com- 
plete. 

THE TREE 

She has never fully known her misery. Her 
heart is like an iron-bound chest long-locked, 
with the key lost. 

THE GAKI 

We shall find the key! 'We shall find the key! 

THE TREE 

I shall warn her. 

THE GAKI 

Try! 

THE TREE 

Alas! I can not make her hear! I can not 
tell her anything. 

THE GAKI 

She can not understand you ! She can not see 
me unless I wish! Earth people never see or 
hear ! 

THE TREE 

Hai! Hai! Hai ! 

[Obaa-San enters. She is old, very, very old, 
and withered and misshapen. There is only 
laughter in your heart when you look at Obaa- 
San unless you see her eyes. Then — 

12 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

OBAA-SAN 

My tree I My little tree! Why do you sigh? 

THE TREE 

Hal! Hal! Hal! 

OBAA-SAN 

Sometimes I think I pity you. Yes, dear tree I 

THE TREE 

Hal! Hal! Hal! 

THE GAKI 

Now I am a traveller. She sees me pleasantly. 
— Grandmother! 

OBAA-SAN 

Ay, sir! 

THE GAKI 

Which way to Kyushu? 

OBAA-SAN 

You have lost your way. Far, far back beyond 
the ferry landing at Ishlyama to your right. 
That Is the way to Kyushu. 

THE GAKI 

Ah, me ! 

OBAA-SAN 

You are tired. Will you not sit and rest? — 
Will you not have some rice? 

THE GAKI 

Oh, no. — Where Is your brood, grandmother? 

OBAA-SAN 

I have no brood. I am no grandmother. I 
am no mother. 

THE GAKI 

What! Are there tears In your voice? 

OBAA-SAN 

Tears! Why should I weep? 

13 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

THE GAKI 

I do not know, grandmother ! 
OBAA-SAN 

I am no grandmother! — Who sent you here 

to laugh at me ? — 0-Sode-San? 'Tis she who 

laughs at me, because — 

THE GAKI 

No one, old woman — 

OBAA-SAN 

Yes, yes, old woman. That Is It. Old 
woman! — Who are you? I am not wont to 
cry my griefs to any one. 
THE GAKI 

Griefs? You have griefs? 

OBAA-SAN 

Ay! Even / — she whom they call Obaa-San 

— have griefs. — Even I ! But they are locked 
deep within me. No one knows ! 

THE GAKI 

Someone must know. 

OBAA-SAN 

I shall tell no one. 

THE GAKI 

Someone must know! 

OBAA-SAN 

You speak like some spirit ■ — and I feel that I 
must obey. 
THE GAKI 

Someone must know I 

OBAA-SAN 

I shall not speak. Who cares? — What is it 
I shall do ? Tell my story — unlock my heart 

— so that O^Sode-San may laugh and laugh and 

14 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

laugh. Is It not enough that some evil spirit 
feeds upon my deep unrest? 

THE GAKI 

How can one feed upon your unrest when you 
lock it in your heart? {The voices of 0-Sode- 
San and 0-Katsu-San are heard calling to Ohaa- 
San) Here come some friends of yours. 
Tell them your tale. 
[He goes out. 

OBAA-SAN 

Strange. I feel that I must speak out my heart. 

[O'Sode-San and 0-Katsu-San come in. 
O-SODE-SAN 

Good morning, grandmother! 
OBAA-SAN {with a strange wist fulness in her tone) 

Good morning, 0-Sode-San. Good morning, 

O-Katsu-San. May the bright day bring you 

a bright heart. 

0-KATSU-SAN 

And you, Obaa-San. 

O-SODE-SAN 

How is the weeping willow tree, grandmother? 

OBAA-SAN 

It is there — close to me. 

O-SODE-SAN 

And does it speak to you, grandmother — 

OBAA-SAN 

I am no grandmother! I am no grandmother! 
I am no mother ! 0-Sode, can you not under- 
stand? I am no mother. — I am no wife. — 
There is no one.; — I am only an old woman. — 
In the spring I see the world turn green and I 
hear the song of happy birds and feel the per- 
fumed balmy air upon my cheek — and every 

IS 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

spring that cheek Is older and more wrinkled 
and I have always been alone. I see the stars 
on a summer night and listen for the dawn — - 
and there never has been a strong hand to touch 
me nor tiny fingers to reach out for me. I have 
heard the crisp autumn winds fight the falling 
leaves and I have known that long winter days 
and nights were coming — and I have always 
been alone — alone. I have pretended to you 
— what else could I do? Grandmother I 
Grandmother! Every time you speak the 
name, the emptiness of my life stands before me 
like a royal Kakemono all covered with unliving 
people. 

0-SODE-SAN 

You never seemed to care. 

OBAA-SAN 

Did I not care! Grandmother! Grand- 
mother! Why? Because I loved a weeping 
willow tree. Because to me It was real. It 
was my baby. But no lover ever came to woo. 
No words ever came to me. — Think you, O- 
Sode-San, that the song of birds In the branches 
is ease to an empty heart. Think you that the 
wind amongst the leaves soothes the mad un- 
rest In here. {She beats her breast) I have 
no one — no one. I talk to my weeping willow 
tree — but there is no answer — no answer, 
O-Sode-San — only stillness — and yet — 
sometimes I think I hear a sigh. — Grand- 
mother! Grandmother! There! Is that 
enough? I've bared my heart to you. Go 
spread the news — I am lonely and old — old. 

i6 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 



— I have always been lonely. Go spread the 
news. 

O-KATSU-SAN 

No, Obaa-San. We shall not spread the news. 
No one shall know. 

O-SODE-SAN 

But — we pity you. 

OBAA-SAN 

I need no pity.— Now my heart is unlocked. 
The dread Gaki of Kokoru who feeds upon un- 
rest can come to me and feed upon my pain. I 
care not. 

THE TREE 

Hal! Hal! Hai! 

O-KATSU-SAN 

Someone sighs. 

OBAA-SAN 

Yes. It ^ Is my tree. Perhaps there, too, 
someone In deep distress is Imprisoned — as I 
am Imprisoned in this body. — Hal! You do 
not know. You do not know ! 

O-SODE-SAN 

Obaa-San — we have been hurting. I never 
knew — I am sorry, Obaa-San. 

O-KATSU-SAN 

You have been lonely, Obaa-San, but you have 
always been lonely. I know the having and I 
know the losing. 

O-SODE-SAN 

Ay. 'TIs better to long for love than to have 
it — and then lose. Look at me, whom the 
villagers call the bitter one. He came to me 
so long ago. — It was spring, Obaa-San, and 

17 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

perfume filled the air and birds were singing 
and his voice was like the voice from the sky- 
dome — all clear and wonderful. Together 
we saw the cherry trees bloom — once: and on 
a summer night we saw the wonder of the fire- 
fly fete. My heart was young and life was 
beautiful. We watched the summer moon — 
and when the autumn came — Ai ! Ai ! Ai ! 
Obaa-San. — I knew a time of love — and oh, 
the time of hopelessness ! And I shut my heart. 
I did not see, Obaa-San. 

OBAA-SAN 

You knew his love, 0-Sode-San. You touched 
his hand. 

0-KATSU-SAN 

But what is that? To her — my little girl — 
I gave all my dreams. I felt her baby hands 
in mine and in the night I could reach out to 
her. I lived for her. And then, one day — 
Obaa-San, I had known the joy of motherhood 
and I had known the ecstasy of — child — and 
now — Her little life with me was only a 
dream of spring, but still my back is warm with 
the touch of her babyhood. The little toys still 
dance before my eyes. Oh, that was long ago. 
— Now all is black. 

OBAA-SAN 

All blackness can never fill a mother's heart. — 
O^Katsu-San, you have known the baby's hand 
in yours. But I am old — and I have never 
known, can never know. — I'd go to the lowest 
hells if once I might but know the touch of my 
own child's hand. 

i8 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

THE TREE 

Hai! Hai! Hai 

OBAA-SAN 

Just once — for one short day — to fill the 
empty place in my heart that has always been 
empty — and a pain — 

O-SODE-SAN 

Who is that man, Obaa-San? 

OBAA-SAN 

There? That is a stranger seeking for Kyu- 
shu. 

O-KATSU-SAN 

He seems to wish to speak to you. 

OBAA-SAN 

A strange man. 'Twas he who seemed to make 
me unlock my heart to you. 

0-SODE-SAN 

Then shall we go. — And we'll return, Obaa- 
San. 

OBAA-SAN 

Grandmother I 

O-KATSU-SAN 

We'll laugh no more. 

[They leave. Obaa-San turns to the tree. 

The Gaki enters, strangely agitated. 

THE GAKI 

Obaa-San, for so they called you, tell me — 
did you say you'd go to the lowest hells if you 
might know the touch of your own child? 

OBAA-SAN 

Forever — could I but fill this emptiness In my 
mother-heart. 

THE GAKI 

Would you really pay? 

19 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

OBAA-SAN 

Yes, yes. But why do you ask? — Who are 
you? 

THE GAKI 

I am a stranger bound for Kyushu. / 

OBAA-SAN 

Why do you, too, make sport of me? 

THE GAKI 

Go you Into your house and come not till I call. 
[ObaaSan obeys under a strange compulsion. 

THE TREE 

Hal! Hal! Hal 

THE GAKI 

You can not feed me now. That cry was the 
wind amongst your branches. Come. I bid 
you come to life, to human form. 

THE TREE 

I do not wish to come. 

THE GAKI 

I bid you come ! 

[When he touches the trunk of the tree, Aoyagi 
steps forth. She is small. Her little body is 
swathed in brown and from her arms hang long 
sleeves like the branches of the weeping willow. 
At first she shrinks. Then freedom takes hold 
on her and she opens her arms wide. 
THE GAKI 

You are free. 

AOYAGI 
Free! 
THE GAKI 

As free as one In life. You are bound to the 
tree as one might be bound to his body in a 
dream — but you may wander as one wanders 

20 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

In a dream — free until the waking — then 
when the tree suffers, you shall suffer. Though 
you be leagues away, you shall suffer. — But 
first you shall dream. — Now you are to be the 
daughter of Obaa-San. 

AOYAGI 

Oil 

THE GAKI 

Do not call yet. — You are to wed the first 
young man who passes here and you are to 
follow him. 
AOYAGI 

But — Obaa-San? 

THE GAKI 

She shall feed me with her new-made misery. 

AOYAGI 

No — no — she loved me so ! 

THE GAKI 

She shall feed me. You will be happy. 
\_He disappears. 
AOYAGI 

Free! And happy I 

[The Gaki's voice is heard calling Obaa-San, 
She comes in and looks about. At last her old 
tired eyes see Aoyagi, For a moment they 
face each other. 
AOYAGI 

Hal. 

OBAA-SAN 

A dream I 

AOYAGI 

Mother — 

[Obaa-San stands mute. She listens — 'yearn- 
ing for the word again. 

21 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

OBAA-SAN 

Have you lost your way? 

AOYAGI 

No., mother — 

[Obaa-San does not know what to think or do. 
A strange giddiness seizes on her and a great 
light fills her eyes. 

OBAA-SAN 

How beautiful the name ! But I am only Obaa- 
San. Your mother — 
{She shakes her old head sadly. 

AOYAGI 

Obaa-San, my mother. 

[Obaa-San lays her hand upon her heart. Then 

she stretches out her arms. 

OBAA-SAN 

Obaa-San — your mother — where Is my pain? 
And you — who are you? 

AOYAGI 

I am AoyagI, mother. 

OBAA-SAN 

You have not lost your way? 

AOYAGI 

I have but just found my way. 

OBAA-SAN 

My pain Is stilled. There Is no emptiness. It 
Is a dream — a dream of spring and butterflies 
— AoyagI ! 

[She stretches out her arms and silently Aoyagi 
glides into them — as though they had always 
been waiting for her. 
OBAA-SAN 

I seem never to have known a time when you 
were not here. 

22 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

AOYAGI 

Oh, mother dear, it Is now — and now is al- 
ways, if we will. 

OBAA-SAN 

It seems as though the weeping willow tree had 
warmed and shown its heart to me. 

AOYAGI 

I am the Lady of the Weeping Willow tree ! 

OBAA-SAN 

I care not who or what you are. You are here 
— close to my heart and I have waited always. 
I know I dream — I know. 

AOYAGI 

How long I've tried to speak to you ! 

OBAA-SAN 

How long my heart has yearned for you I 

AOYAGI 

Mother ! 

[The Gaki appears, 

THE GAKI 

Such happiness. Already she has forgotten the 
coming of the man. 

OBAA-SAN 

Oh, how I've dreamed of you I When I was 
very, very young and had my little doll, I 
dreamed of you. I used to sing a lullaby and 
still I sing it In my heart: 

See, baby, see 

The ears of the wolf are long; 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Your father Is brave and strong. 
I grew Into womanhood and still I dreamed of 
you. And, dreaming still, I grew old. And 
all the world it seemed to me, made sport of 

23 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

my longing and my loneliness. The people of 
the village called me grandmother. The chil- 
dren echoed the grownups' cry and ran from 
me. Now — AoyagI — you are here. Oh, 
the warmth — the peace. Come let me gather 
flowers for the house. Let me — 

AOYAGI 

Oh, mother, dear. I am so happy here. 

OBAA-SAN {suddenly becoming the solicitous 
mother^ she handles Aoyagi as one might han- 
dle a doll) 

Are you — truly? — Are you warm? — You 
are hungry I 

AOYAGI 

No — I am just happy. 

\_She nestles close to Ohaa-San. There is com- 
plete contentment. 
OBAA-SAN 

I shall bring you — a surprise. 

\_She darts into the house. Immediately The 

Gaki comes in. 

THE GAKI 

You seem very happy, Aoyagi. And your 
mother is very happy, too.- — And I am hungry 
now. 

AOYAGI 

You will not hurt her ! Let me go back to the 
Weeping Willow Tree — 
THE GAKI 

That would kill her — perhaps. 

AOYAGI 

No — no ■ — I should be near her then — al- 
ways. 

24 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 



THE GAKI 

But where would I have my food? Not In 
your heart, not in hers — I should starve and I 
must live. 

AOYAGI 

What then? 

THE GAKI 

Seel 

[He points to the road. "Aoyagi looks in that 
direction as The Gaki disappears. Riki comes 
in. Occasionally one may hear a hit of a lul- 
laby sung in the old cracked voice of Obaa-San: 

See, baby, see 

The ears of the wolf are long; 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Your father Is brave and strong. 
Riki is a poet, young, free, romantic. He faces 
Aoyagi a little moment as though a wonderful 
dragonfly had poised above his reflection in a 
pool. 
RIKI 

You are she I 

AOYAGI 

My — who — are — you ? 

RIKI 

I am a poet — I have sought everywhere for 
you. 

AOYAGI 

I am the Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree I 

RIKI 

You are my love. 

AOYAGI 

I am the daughter of Obaa-San, 

25 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

RIKI 

I love you so ! 

AOYAGI 

Yes — I love you so ! - — But I love Obaa-San, 
my mother — 
RIKI 

Come with me. 

AOYAGI 

But Obaa-San- — 

RIKI 

Come with me. 

Butterfly, butterfly, alight upon the Willow Tree 
And if you rest not well, then fly home to me. 
See ! I make a little verse for you. 

AOYAGI 

But — Obaa-San — Is very old and very lonely. 

RIKI 

She Is your mother. — She must be glad to let 
you go. 

AOYAGI 

She does not know you. 

RIKI 

I know you. 

AOYAGI 

Yes — but I can not leave Obaa-San. 

RIKI 

We can not stay with Obaa-San. 

AOYAGI 

Can we not take her with us? 

RIKI 

No — like the Oshidorl — we can go only by 
two and two along the silent stream — and as 
Oshidorl in silence and in happiness float on and 
on and seem to cleave the mirrored sky that lies 

26 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

deep within the dark waters, so we must go, we 
two, just you and I, to some silent place where 
only you and I may be — and look and look 
until we see the thousand years of love in each 
other's hearts. 

AOYAGI 

Something speaks to me above the pity for poor 
Obaa-San. 

RIKI 

It is love. 

AOYAGI 

I love Obaa-San. 

RIKI 

This is love beyond love. This is earth and 
air — sea and sky. 

AOYAGI 

I do not even know your name. 

RIKI 

What does my name matter? I am I — you 
are you. 
AOYAGI 

I love Obaa-San, my mother. — I feel happy in 
her arms; — I felt at peace; — but now I feel 
that I must go to you. — I am fearful — yet I 
must go. — You are — 

RIKI 

I am RIki. But what can Riki mean that al- 
ready my eyes have not said? 

AOYAGI 

I feel a strange unrest — that is happiness. 

RIKI 

Come! 

AOYAGI 

First let me speak to Obaa-San. 

27 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

RIKI 

Look — out there — a mountain gleaming In 
the fresh spring air. — Amongst the trees I 
know a glade that waits for you and me. — A 
little stream comes plashing by and silver fishes 
leap from pool to pool — dazzling jewels in 
the leaf-broken sunlight. Tall bamboo trees 
planted deep in the father earth reach up to the 
sky. — And there the hand of some great god 
can reach down to us and feed our happiness — 
AOYAGI 

Riki — I must go — I feel the strong hand 
leading me — I feel the happy pain — I long 
— I would stay with Obaa-San; but, Riki, I 
must go. — Yon mountain gleaming in the sun 
• — the bamboo trees — the silver fishes — 
you — 

[Obaa-San enters carrying an armful of wista- 
ria blossoms. She is radiant. Then • — she 
sees the lovers — and she understands. The 
blossoms slip from her arms, 

OBAA-SAN 

When do you go? 

AOYAGI 

Obaa-San, my mother — something outside of 
me calls and I must obey. 
OBAA-SAN 

I understand.- — It must be wonderful, my little 
daughter. 
AOYAGI 

Mother I — This Is RIkl. 

OBAA-SAN 

Riki I r — See that you bring her happiness. 

28 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 



RIKI 

I could not fall. I have searched for her al- 
ways. 

OBAA-SAN 

We always search for someone — we humans. 
— Sometimes we find ■ — sometimes we wait al- 
ways. 

AOYAGI 

RikI, I must not go. Obaa-San is my mother 
■ — and I am all she has. 

OBAA-SAN 

Yes, Aoyagi, you are all I have and that is why 
I can let you go. Be happy — 

AOYAGI 

But you, my mother. 

OBAA-SAN 

For my sake, be happy. Some day I shall be 
Obaa-San no more — and what of you then? 
Go, my little darling, go with Riki. — Some day, 
you will return. 
RIKI 

We shall return some day, Obaa-San. 

AOYAGI 
Farewell. 

[Very shnply she steps into Ohaa-San^s out- 
stretched arms and then, as though they had 
been forever empty, Obaa-San stands gazing 
into space with her arms outstretched, Aoyagi 
and Riki go out, 

OBAA-SAN 

Hal!— Hail 

[She lays her hand upon her heart and, looking 
into space, turns to the house. There is the 

29 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

empty tree — her empty heart! The Gaki 
comes in. 
THE GAKI 

Oi ! Obaa-San! 

[0 baa-San turns mechanically. 

OBAA-SAN 

Did you not find your way? 

THE GAKI 

I found my way.- — But why this unhappiness in 

your eyes? 

OBAA-SAN 

I am very lonely. I have lived my lifelong 
dream of spring and butterflies a single instant 
— and it is gone. 
[She turns to go. 

THE GAKI 

I feed! I feed! 

[The voices of 0-Sode and 0-Katsu are heard 

calling Obaa-San. 

Here are your friends again. 

[0-Sode and 0-Katsu come in. 

0-SODE-SAN 

Hai! Obaa-San, a little lady passed and told 
us you were lonely. 

OBAA-SAN 

I am lonely. — But I have always been lonely. 

0-SODE-SAN 

What has happened? 

[The Gaki, hidden, has been triumphant. Sud- 
denly he seems to shrivel as if drawn with rage. 
OBAA-SAN 

I waited, oh so long — you know. — I opened 
my arms. — My dream came true. — I sang my 

30 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

lullaby — to my child. — A lover came ; — they 
have gone. 
O-KATSU-SAN 

She is a-wander In her mind. 

OBAA-SAN 

I opened my arms here — like this. — She 
stepped into them as though she had been there 
always — and now she has gone. — In one short 
moment I lived my mother-life. 

O-SODE-SAN 

It was magic! Come, Obaa-San, we'll make 
some prayers to burn. 

O-KATSU-SAN 

Some evil ghost. 

OBAA-SAN 

No ! No ! Some kindly spirit from the sky- 
dome came to me. — I have had one moment of 
happiness complete. — I dreamed and I have 
known. Now I shall dream again — a greater 
dream — a greater dream. 
{The old women go into the house. 
THE GAKI 

What! I can not feed! My Lady of the 
Weeping Willow Tree is gone! Obaa-San has 
built a circle of happiness about her head. 
Hai ! I shall die In this shape. — I must feed. 
— Perhaps she tries to trick me.- — I shall lis- 
ten.— Why does she not weep ? — Why do they 
not wail? 

[He starts for the house. As he nears it, the 
voice of Obaa-San is heard crooning the little 
lullaby : 

See, baby, see 

The ears of the wolf are long; 

31 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

Sleep, baby, sleep, 

Your father Is brave and strong. 
THE GAKI {defeated, seems beside himself. Sud- 
denly he looks out and sees the mountain-peak) 
I'll find them in the bamboo glade. Perhaps I 
can make unhapplness there. Riki and Ao- 
yagi! 



The Curtains Close, 



32 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 



ACT II 

A Bamboo Glade on the Mountain-side, 
[The Gaki comes in. 
THE GAKI 

This is the glade on the mountain side • — the 
glade where Aoyagi and Riki think to find their 
happiness. Here must I feed or I shall die in 
this shape. — Hai ! — They come. 
[Riki and Aoyagi enter. 
RIKI 

. . . and so like every other prince who is a 
real prince, he charged to the top of the hill 
before his men; and they, following him, fell 
upon the enemy and victory was theirs. 

AOYAGI 

And then — ? 

RIKI 

And then the Princess laid her hand upon her 
heart. 

AOYAGI 

Is that all? 

RIKI 

Is that all? What more need there be? 

AOYAGI 

Did they not wed and have great happiness? 
RIKI 

You. can answer that. 

AOYAGI 

I? I never heard the story before. 

33 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

RIKI 

One may always end a story = — just right. 

AOYAGI 

Not a weeping willow tree? 
RIKI 

Even a weeping willow tree I 

AOYAGI 

How ? 

RIKI 

I'll show you. — Stand right here.^ — So I I 
stand here. — Now look at me. 

AOYAGI 

I am looking. 
RIKI 

Place your hand upon your heart. 

AOYAGI 

Ay. 

RIKI 

Now I am the Prince. With sword in hand I 
come to you. From Kyushu to Koban Pve 
fought my way to you ; — through forest, marsh 
and mountain path I've striven for you. Now 
I am here. — Look at me. 

AOYAGI 

Ah! 

[With a cry of delight she rushes to his arms, 
RIKI 

And did they wed? 

AOYAGI 

Ah, love beyond love. 

RIKI 

And did they have great happiness? 

AOYAGI 

Ah! 

34 




The Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree 
Act III. 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

[She nestles close to him, 
RIKI 

My little princess ! I did not come to you 
sword In hand; I did not fight my way from 
Kyushu to Koban. But I strove for you 
through forest, marsh and mountain pass. — 
Within me throbbed a mighty song that I could 
not sing. I saw almost all the world, It seems, 
and once I heard a voice that seemed to call to 
me alone. It was at the ferry of Ishlyama. I 
followed the sound — and there she stood all 
aglow In the morning sunlight. But when I 
saw, the song still throbbed within my heart and 
I could not sing to her. — Someone else called to 
me— '*Hai! Hal! HalP' 

AOYAGI 

And what of her — the vision at the ferry of 
Ishlyama? 

RIKI 

For all I know she may still be standing there 
In the morning sunlight all aglow. — I have 
found you I 

AOYAGI 

And was she — fair? 
RIKI 

Ay — how can I say? Now all the world Is 
fair because I see only you in earth and sky and 
everything. 
AOYAGI 

She was aglow in the morning sun. 

RIKI 

How can I say? I heard her voice; — a song 
was In my heart — a song for you. — I saw her 
— the song staid locked in my heart for you. 

3S 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 



AOYAGI 

Riki — Riki — 

RIKI 

A dream that's true. 

AOYAGI 

I do not understand It all. — Obaa-San — you 
— this happiness. — I have known happiness, 
but not like this. — When I was in the weeping 
willow tree — sometimes I was happy and 
sometimes I was hurt. — Oh, Riki, Riki, this 
glade is like the weeping willow tree ! When- 
ever the soft air sways the leaves, I feel the 
same sweet joy as when the little breezes played 
amongst my branches. The rain — oh, the 
gentle little rain that cooled me In the hot sum- 
mer — - the drops that danced from leaf to leaf 
and felt like smiles upon my face. Tears! 
The rain Is not like tears, Riki. 

RIKI 

The dew Is tears, perhaps. 

AOYAGI 

The dew! It came to me like a cool veil that 
the morning sun would lift and little breezes 
bear away. Then sometimes — the voice, the 
loneliness of Obaa-San. 
RIKI 

Look where her home lies. Far down there 
beyond that stream, see — there Is Kyushu. 

AOYAGI 

Oh, Riki, my Riki, my august lord, why, why 
can I stay here In happiness with you when I 
know that Obaa-San is miserable and alone? 
RIKI 

I can not say? lonly know that we are here — 

36 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

you and I — and we are happy. Two make a 
world, Aoyagi. Why? How? I do not 
know. 

AOYAGI 

Can we not send a message to Obaa-San? 

RIKI 

Yes. I shall go down the mountain to the road 
and tell some passer-by. 

AOYAGI 

And I? 

RIKI 

Sit here and rest — and watch the silver stream 
at Kyushu. 

AOYAGI 

I shall wait — I shall wait. 

RIKI 

Sayonara. 

AOYAGI 

Sayonara. — Sayonara, my august lord. 
[Riki goes out. Aoyagi^ left alone ^ feels the 
air in the old way. She sways slightly in the 
breeze^ then flutters toward the steps. 
Oh, Kyushu ! The silver stream at Kyushu I 
[She evidently sees the place where Obaa-San 
lives. Her eyes dim a bit and slowly she hums 
the old lullaby: 

See, baby, see, 

The ears of the wolf are long; 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Thy father is brave and strong. 
Poor Obaa-San I 
[The Gaki appears. 
THE gAki 

I have lost my way. 

37 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

\_Aoyagi turns quickly, questioning him almost 
fearfully with her eyes. There is something of 
the Aoyagi of the time when The Gaki bade her 
leave Obaa-San. 
AOYAGI 

Whither are you bound? 

THE GAKI 

I am a stranger bound for Kyushu. 

AOYAGI 

There is Kyushu. (She indicates the silver 
stream) 
THE GAKI 

I am told there is a ferry on the way to Kyushu. 

AOYAGI 

Yes, — at Ishiyama. 

THE GAKI 

At — Ishiyama. 

AOYAGI 

Why do you speak so? 

THE GAKI 

I merely echoed your own words. 

AOYAGI 

I did not say them so terribly. 

THE GAKI 

What is in your heart came into your voice, 
perhaps. 

AOYAGI 

There is the way to Kyushu. 

THE GAKI 

Down that path? 

AOYAGI 

Yes. Did you not meet Riki? 

THE GAKI 

Riki? 

38 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

AOYAGI 

Yes, my august lord. 

THE GAKI 

I passed no one — except — a tall woman who 
was climbing slowly and singing a wonderful 
song — which I had heard once near the ferry 
at Ishiyama. 

AOYAGI 

But Riki just left me here. You must have 
passed him on the way. 
THE GAKI 

The by-paths are many and tihe trysting places 
are secret — like this. 

AOYAGI 

Riki would take no by-path. My august lord 
needs no trysting place save this. 

THE GAKI 

I do not know. I saw no Riki. 

AOYAGI 

My lord needs no trysting place. I am here. 
He knows I am here — waidng. 
[The Gaki looks at her, 

THE GAKI 

Riki? 

AOYAGI 

He knows I am waiting ■ — > 

THE GAKI 

Riki ? — Oh, yes the name — I heard it — 
once — at the ferry at Ishiyama. He has been 
there. 

AOYAGI 

Yes. 

THE GAKI 

A poet? 

39 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

AOYAGI 

Yes. 

THE GAKI 

He writes wonderful love-songs — they say. 

AOYAGI 

They? 

THE GAKI 

Yes, — the people at Ishlyama. I heard one. — 
It goes — let me see : 

" Butterfly, butterfly, alight upon the willow 
tree — " 

AOYAGI 

He did not speak that at Ishlyama. He made 
that for me. 

THE GAKI 

I heard It, strange to say, at Ishlyama. Per- 
haps they brought It from — where did you 
say? 

AOYAGI 

He made that for me only yesterday. 

THE GAKI 

And I heard It — yesterday — at Ishlyama. 
There the wonderful woman was singing. 
{She looks at him) The one I passed just now. 

AOYAGI 

That Is a mistake. — You are wrong. — I know 
my — Ah ! what Is It here — that hurts me, 
tears me, seems to choke me ! RIkl I — I am 
all In all to him — he told me that.- — He can 
not make poems for another. 
THE GAKI 

I should not have told anything.- — Forgive me. 
— - 1 did not know. — To speak truth Is deep In 

40 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

my heart. — I have no gracious subtleties. — I 
am sorry ^ — 

AOYAGI 

In the valley there is a mist. I can no longer 
see the silver stream at Kyushu. — Who are 
you ? — I am afraid 1 — Riki -. — Riki — 
[There is no answer, 
THE GAKI 

He does not seem to hear. — I shall go to meet 
him. He went this way, you say? 
AOYAGI 

Yes.- — There is a mist in fhe valley and I can 
not see the silver stream at Kyushu — 
[She does not see The Gaki who goes in the 
direction opposite to the one Aoyagi has indi- 
cated. 

Oh, the little day — the little day — of love 
beyond love. — Riki — my mother, Obaa-San. 

— Yesterday the mountain-top gleamed like the 
topmost heaven in the spring sunlight. Today 

— the valley dies in mist and the mountain-top 
is lost in the sky. 

RIKI {coming in singing) 
Hai! Hai! Hai! 

RIKI 

Aoyagi ! 

AOYAGI 

I must go back to Obaa-San, my mother. 

RIKI 

What has happened, Aoyagi? 

AOYAGI 

We came up the mountain path side by side, 
Riki. Without question I gave myself to you. 

41 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

RIKI 

Aoyagi ! 

AOYAGI 

I gave my love — my love beyond love. I be- 
lieved. 

RIKI 

Why not believe? 

AOYAGI 

Your first words were — *' You are she!** I 
did not question. And now — 

RIKI 

Oh, my little love, was I gone too long? 
AOYAGI 

My love knows no time, Riki. — You were gone 

— how can I say? — ages. 
RIKI 

It was ages, too, to me, Aoyagi. 
AOYAGI {softening) 

I watched the silver stream at Kyushu — and I 

waited. 

RIKI 

What, are those tears? 

AOYAGI 

Nothing, Riki — but I feel so far away — from 
Obaa-San. 

RIKI 

She can bridge the distance with her heart. A 
mother can always bridge all distance with her 
heart. 

AOYAGI 

Hai! 

RIKI 

Our happiness is all she wants. 

42 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

AOYAGI 

Our happiness — (bitterly) 
RIKI (Me goes to her. She moves away) 

Why — 

AOYAGI 

The silver fishes — 

RIKI 

What has happened, AoyagI? 

AOYAGI 

Did you send the message to Obaa-San? 

RIKI 

Yes. 

AOYAGI 

Did you go down the path? 

RIKI 

Yes. 

AOYAGI 

Did you pass a stranger on the way? 

RIKI 

No. 

AOYAGI 

A stranger just came by. — He came up the 

mountain path, 
RIKI 

I crossed the stream. 
AOYAGI (She takes a deep breath) 

You crossed the stream. 

RIKI 

Aoyagi — little sweetheart — I cannot under- 
stand. — What do you mean? 

AOYAGI 

Oh, Riki, Riki, I am so alone. Tell me what 
— why — why — 

43 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

\ 

RIKI 

AoyagI, was I gone too long? Has some de- 
mon come to you? 

AOYAGI 

No demon came. You were gone too long. 

RIKI 

I went down the path and crossed the stream to 
take a shorter way. I met a stranger — 

AOYAGI 

Singing? 
RIKI 

Yes — I think she was singing. 

AOYAGI 

She was singing. 
RIKI 

What do you mean, Aoyagi? 

AOYAGI 

Who was she? 

RIKI 

I do not know. — She said she would pass Ishi- 

yama. 
AOYAGI 

Where did you see her? 
RIKI 

Beyond the stream — In a little glade. 

AOYAGI 

Did she sing your song? 
RIKI 

My song? No. 
AOYAGI 

Did she know your songs? 
RIKI 

Aoyagi I What do you want to know? 

44 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

AOYAGI 

Did she know your song to me — 

" Butterfly, butterfly, alight upon the willow 

tree"? 

RIKI 

Perhaps. — I made that to you years ago — 
when you were a dream in my heart. 

AOYAGI 

At Ishlyama? 

RIKI 

Perhaps. 

AOYAGI 

Hai I — Obaa-San, my mother ! — Oh, my 
heart — my heart — 
RIKI 

Aoyagi — what have I done ? Let me com- 
fort you I 
[He goes to her, 
AOYAGI 

You leave me nothing in all the world. 

RIKI 

I give you all my world. 

AOYAGI 

Hail Hai! Hai! 

RIKI 

Let me go and call the lady bound for Ishl- 
yama. 

AOYAGI 

RIkl! — ah! 

RIKI 

Little Aoyagi — my love — she will be tender 
with you. — And when your tears are gone, 
she'll bear your message on to Obaa-San. 

AS 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

[He goes to her, but she draws away. For a 
moment he is uncertain what to do; — then — - 
he speaks, 
I'll bring her back to you. 

AOYAGI 

RIkl ! — No ! — We came up the mountain- 
path together — side by side. — - We — but 
now, Riki, we go two ways. — I to Obaa-San 
— you to — 

RIKI 

What do you mean? 

AOYAGI 

Go sing your songs at Ishiyama ! Go make 
your poems to the butterfly. — I — • 

RIKI 

I have made songs only for you. 
AOYAGI 

But the songs for me are on every tongue. 
RIKI 

Ay — I am proud of that. 

AOYAGI 

The lady at the ferry at Ishiyama — 

RIKI 

She learned the song to you ! 

AOYAGI 

Ah! 

[Aoyagi rushes upon him and before she real- 
izes what she is doing, she strikes him. He 
stands petrified a moment, then faces her very 
calmly. 
RIKI 

I shall find the stranger-woman and send her to 
you.— I can no longer help you. 

46 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

AOYAGI 

You can no longer help. — Oh — life — oh, 
love — this too short day — 
RIKI 

I shall stay near at hand until you return to 
Obaa-San. 

AOYAGI 

I shall find the path alone. 

RIKI 

I'll send the stranger-woman to you. 
[Riki goes out, 
AOYAGI 

Hai ! Hai ! Hai ! I watched the sunrise 
only yesterday and I trembled with the wonder 
of the dew-cooled dawn. Life seemed all peace 
and — today — I have known a mother's love 
and my mother. — I have known a lover's touch 
— love beyond love. — I am waking from a 
dream. The Gaki said I'd waken — I'd be as 
free as one in life. Oh, what is this thing they 
call life? No happiness complete — a vision 
of a mountain top — a climbing to the goal — a 
bamboo glade — oh, the mist at Kyushu. — 
When I go back to Obaa-San — I shall love her 
so — but oh, the memory of Riki — the moun- 
tain gleaming in the sun — 
[She starts sadly from the path. The Gaki 
enters, 
THE GAKI 

Lady, I am here again. It seemed to me that 
I must return to you. Something seemed to 
call. {Aoyagi almost collapses) I feed! I 
feed! 

47 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

AOYAGI 

I can not go I 

THE GAKI 

You seem to suffer. 

AOYAGI 

Oh — I have lost my way in life — 

THE GAKI 

Lost your way in life ? Let me help you. 

AOYAGI 

I have stood on the mountain side and I have 
seen the green valleys far below. 

THE GAKI 

Talk to me — as you would to yourself. — I 
hear but I shall not speak what I hear. 

AOYAGI 

Riki — no, I can not speak even to myself. 
Deep In me there Is a hurt. — I can not tell — 

THE GAKI 

A woman gives all ; — the man forgets. 

AOYAGI 

But to RIkl — he knows — I brought him my 
full belief — my all-in-all. 

THE GAKI 

Your perfect faith. 

AOYAGI 

Ay, my perfect faith. — He spoke to me and 
then I bowed to my august lord. — I followed 
him without question. — And he forgets so soon. 

THE GAKI 

Are you sure he has forgotten ? 

AOYAGI 

You know — you saw the lady from Ishlyama. 

THE GAKI 

pTrue. — I saw her. 

48 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 



AOYAGI 

You did not meet him on the path. 

THE GAKI 

True. — I did not meet him on the path. 

AOYAGI 

He crossed the stream. 

THE GAKI 

Perhaps to shorten the way. 

AOYAGI 

He met her In a little glade. — Hal I 

THE GAKI 

What shall you do? 
AOYAGI 

I'll go my way. I'll return to Obaa-San. 

THE GAKI 

I'll guide you down the mountain side. — Come, 
we'll take the shorter way — the by-paths — 
across the stream — through the little glade — 
AOYAGI {She looks about once more at the scene 
of her happiness) 
Hall 

THE GAKI 

Come I 

AOYAGI 

No, let us go down the path. — I want to see my 
footprints — side by side with his. 

THE GAKI 

Perhaps they're being crushed under the feet of 
the lady from Ishlyama ! 

[Aoyagi starts a moment as though to fly along 
the path before the lady comes. — She sways 
slowly — and then falls in a pitiful little heap. 
— - The Gaki takes her in his arms and, utterly 
triumphant, starts up the mountain-side. 

49 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

We'll go up — up — sweet Aoyagi, to the 
snow peak — gleaming in the sun. — You'll find 
the mountain-top — not lost In the sky. — Your 
perfect faith ! — Oh, you silly human — oh, fu- 
tile love — climb, Aoyagi — climb without 
love. — But first we'll make footprints for the 
lover's eyes. — Bhndness will lead him to the 
mists at Kyushu. — Jealousy will lead you to 
the lonely stars. 

[He holds Aoyagi so that her feet touch the 
ground — toward the downward path. Then 
with a wild laugh, he turns toward the mountain 
top. As the laughter dies, the voice of Riki is 
heard calling 

Aoyagi ! Aoyagi ! . . . 01 ! 
The laugh of The Gaki is heard once more very 
far away — as he ascends the mountain with his 
burden. 
RIKI 

Aoyagi I - — Aoyagi ! 

[Riki comes running in. Presently he sees the 

footprints. 

Oi ! — Aoyagi ! 

[He runs down the path. 

Aoyagi ! — Aoyagi ! 

[Far, very far away The Gaki^s laugh is heard. 

RIKI 

Aoyagi ! — Aoyagi ! 
[Night has fallen slowly. 
Aoyagi ! — Aoyagi ! 

The Curtains Close, 



SO 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 



ACT III 

Before the House of Obaa-San 

[It is moonlight. As the curtain opens, Obaa- 
San is heard singing the lullaby; from the dis- 
tance the voice of Riki calls. 
RIKI 

Aoyagi ! — Aoyagl ! — Aoyagi I — Aoyagi 1 

01! 

[Obaa-San appears in the doorway. 

Aoyagi ! 
OBAA-SAN (She goes toward the voice) 

Oi! 

[Riki enters. 
RIKI 

Obaa-San! Where is Aoyagi? 

OBAA-SAN 

Where is Aoyagi? 
RIKI 

Is she not here? 

OBAA-SAN 

She is not here. Where — Riki ! 

RIKI 

I left her in the bamboo glade — and when I 
returned she was gone. Her footprints pointed 
toward the path — and then were lost. 

OBAA-SAN 

Why did you leave her? 

RIKI 

I left her because she — I left her. 

51 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

OBAA-SAN 

I do not know, RIki, what has come to pass — 
but this I know - — I am waiting for her. — I am 
waiting for her. Go seek for her -. — and bring 
her back to me. 

RIKI 

I shall search for her. — Obaa-San, she — < 

OBAA-SAN 

I care not what she did. I am waiting here for 
her. 

[Riki looks at Obaa-San a moment and then un- 
derstands, 

RIKI 

Aoyagi ! 

{He goes out. Obaa-San turns to the empty 
house — the empty willow tree, 
OBAA-SAN 

She will come back to me, 
[She goes into the house. The Gaki e^nters, 
THE GAKI 

Foolish Riki ! He searches In the valley. Mad 
Aoyagi ! Alone with the lonely stars ! — Oh, 
wondrous misery that makes Itself. 
\^He sees Obaa-San. She enters from the house. 
Good-morning, Obaa-San, my friend. 

OBAA-SAN 

Good-morning, traveller. 

THE GAKI 

Why do you rise before the dawn? 

OBAA-SAN 

I could not rest. — Why are you not at Kyushu? 

THE GAKI 

There is a mist at Kyushu — and I feared to 
lose my way. 

52 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

OBAA-SAN 

Did you pass a little lady — AoyagI, by name 
— alone — 

THE GAKI 

It seems — I met a little lady. — She was not 
happy. — That one? 

OBAA-SAN 

Where ? 

THE GAKI 

I am a stranger here — ■ I cannot say. Over 
there — or over there. 

OBAA-SAN 

She will come to me, perhaps. 

THE GAKI 

Do you know her? 

OBAA-SAN 

She Is my daughter, — Aoyagi. 

THE GAKI 

Do you not fear for her? 

OBAA-SAN 

Perhaps. — She will be here soon. — RIki has 
gone for her. 

THE GAKI 

She must know the way. 

\^The voices of 0-Sode and O-Katsu are heard. 
This has been a restless night for age. {He 
disappears. 0-Sode-San and 0-Katsu-San en- 
ter) 

OBAA-SAN 

Good-morning, 0-Sode-San. Good-morning, 
0-Katsu-San. — The lily hands of sleep have 
passed you by. 
0-KATSU-SAN 

A strange unrest has seized upon me. I think 

53 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

— and think of my little one. She is glorious 
in my heart, and words with wings seem to 
flash before my eyes like fireflies in the dark- 
ness. 

O-SODE-SAN 

I, too, have lived In words. 

O-KATSU-SAN 

Obaa-San, Is It not wonderful to put a joy or 
pain in words? 

OBAA-SAN 

Ah, yes — if there Is anyone to hear them. 
All my long, long years before Aoyagi came to 
me, my heart sang, and words freighted with 
my dreams and my love would come to me — 
here; and they would die because they found no 
ear attuned to them. — Tell me what you 
thought, 0-Sode-San. 

O-SODE-SAN 

The moon In calm restlessness 

Shows the water grasses of the River of 

Heaven, 

Swaying In the cool spring air — 

I know the time to meet my lover 

Is not too far away. 

OBAA-SAN 

Every one has a poem In his heart, I believe.- — 
What was your poem, O-Katsu? 

O-KATSU-SAN 

Oh, messenger of the other world, 
My little one is young; 
She can not find her way — 
Do you kindly take my little one 
Upon your warm, broad back 
Along the twilight path. 

54 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 



O-SODE-SAN 

And you, Obaa-San, — was it words that kept 
sleep from your eyes? 

OBAA-SAN 

Ay, bitter dream-words. And for the bitter- 
ness I am paying dearly. — Over and over the 
words came to me : 

Here lies my daughter's sleeping body 
On the mat beside me. 
But her soul is far away 
Asleep in her lover's arms — 
And I, her white-haired mother, 
Hold only an empty shell. 

Oh, I am ashamed — ashamed. — And just now 
Riki came to me — and told me he could not 
find Aoyagi. 

O-KATSU-SAN AND O-SODE-SAN 

Hail 

O-SODE-SAN 

Can we not search for her? 

OBAA-SAN 

I am waiting here. — She may find her way 
back. — I would not have her come to an empty 
house. — Come — let's go within — and dream 
that yours and yours and mine are on their way 
to us. 

[The old women go into the house. There is 
just a moment's silence — then: 
AOYAGI 

Hail Hai! Hail 

[Aoyagi, utterly forlorn, enters. She looks at 
the house, turns and sees the mountains, covers 

55 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

her eyes, and drags herself wearily to the willow 
tree. She moans as though winter had fallen 
upon the world and were taunting her. The 
Gaki enters. 

THE GAKI 

So you have found your way • — in life, 

AOYAGI 

Oh, let me go back to my tree I 

THE GAKI 

No, little Aoyagi — you would be happy then, 

AOYAGI 

Let me die ! 

THE GAKI 

One can not die. 

AOYAGI 

Hail 

THE GAKI 

Where have you been? 

AOYAGI 

So far — so far 1 — I am weary. — When I 
awoke, I was on the mountain-top — alone. 

THE GAKI 

Were there no stars? 

AOYAGI 

Oh — the stars, the lonely, lonely stars ! I 
tried to touch them — they seemed so near. — I 
found the path — the glade — our footprints 
— strange people — I am here. Let me back I 
Let me back I 

THE GAKI 

And what of Riki? 
AOYAGI 

He does not care. 

56 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

THE GAKI 

And what of Obaa-San? 

AOYAGI 

What can I give to Obaa-San now — but mis- 
ery? Am I never to be free? 

THE GAKI 

What would you do if you were free — climb 
to the mountain top to see the lonely stars? 

AOYAGI 

Hal! — RIkl! — Obaa-San! 

\_0 baa-San enters. The Gaki disappears, 

OBAA-SAN 

Was my name spoken in the dawn? 

AOYAGI 

Mother ! 

[With a cry of joy, Obaa-San enfolds Aoyagi 
in her arms, 
OBAA-SAN 

Nadeshiko! My little girl! 

AOYAGI 

Where is RIki? 

OBAA-SAN 

He has gone to search for you. 

AOYAGI 

Was he alone? 

OBAA-SAN 

Alone? 

AOYAGI 

Yes. Was there no woman with him — a lady 
from Ishlyama? 

OBAA-SAN 

A lady from — 

AOYAGI 

Yes — tall — fair — singing — 

57 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

OBAA-SAN 

He was alone. A lady from Ishiyama — {Ao- 
yagi shudders with dread) brought me a mes- 
sage In the early night — 

AOYAGI 

It was she — young? 

OBAA-SAN 

No — old. 

AOYAGI 

Had she seen RIki? 

OBAA-SAN 

Yes. On the mountain-side — 

AOYAGI 

The stranger said she was young and fair. 

OBAA-SAN 

Perhaps the stranger did not see with honest 
eyes. 

AOYAGI 

He would not lie. 

OBAA-SAN 

Sometimes the eyes and the ears lie. 

AOYAGI 

Ahl 

OBAA-SAN 

And if she had been young and fair? 

AOYAGI 

Riki met her In a glade. 

OBAA-SAN 

Did you see them meet? 

AOYAGI 

No — she was singing. 

OBAA-SAN 

A happy song, perhaps. 

58 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

AOYAGI 

She sang the song he made to me. 

OBAA-SAN 

How do you know? 

AOYAGI 

RIkl said she knew his song to me. 

OBAA-SAN 

Ah, that is beautiful, that she should love his 
song to you. 
AOYAGI 

He — 

OBAA-SAN 

My little darling, I do not know what really 
happened; but this I know, you did not speak 
fairly to Riki or Riki did not speak fairly to 
you. Almost every unhappiness comes because 
we speak too much of our pride and speak too 
little of our hearts. 

AOYAGI 

I asked him if he saw her. 

OBAA-SAN 

Why? 

AOYAGI 

A stranger told me -. — 

OBAA-SAN 

Was it the stranger you believed before Riki 
could defend himself? 

AOYAGI 

But, mother, I gave my all in all to Riki. He 
does not care. 

OBAA-SAN 

Do you know? 
AOYAGI 

I asked Riki if they met? 

59 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

OBAA-SAN 

Did he tell you ? 

AOYAGI 

He seemed to be proud to tell. 

OBAA-SAN 

Then he was unashamed to tell — 

AOYAGI 

I asked him questions. 

OBAA-SAN 

But did you ask him the great question in your 
heart? 
AOYAGI 

Oh — 

OBAA-SAN 

Did you say, " Riki, my love, you are in all my 
heart. Am I in all yours? " 

AOYAGI 

He told me that. 

OBAA-SAN 

And did you believe? 

AOYAGI 

Above all the world I 

OBAA-SAN 

Then why doubt him later? 

AOYAGI 

The lady from Ishiyama passed by. 

OBAA-SAN 

My child, a lady bound for Ishiyama passed 
by I Had she been singing all the love-songs 
of all the worlds; had she been fairer than the 
lotus-flower, why should you have doubted 
Riki? 

AOYAGI 

A stranger — 

60 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 



OBAA-SAN 

A Stranger ! — a stranger ! — Oh, why — why 

— why do the eyes of love grow blind because 
a stranger speaks? You, AoyagI, did not see 
the lady bound for Ishiyama. You did not 
hear her song — and yet upon the ears and eyes 
of a stranger you would shatter your love. — I 
saw the lady. — She was singing, — She was not 
fair.— If she had been — Oh, my little child 

— Riki is Riki, your august lord, the lord of 
your life. When he comes back, go to him and 
speak from your heart. 

AOYAGI 

What shall I say? 

OBAA-SAN 

I need not tell your heart. — It is only your head 
that can not learn to speak unprompted. — Do 
you love Riki ? 

AOYAGI 

Ay — so dearly ! 

[^The voice of Riki is heard, 

RIKI 

Aoyagi ! 
AOYAGI 

He is coming! 

[O baa-San, unnoticed, goes into the house. 

Riki enters, 

RIKI 

Aoyagi ! 

[When he sees she is safe, he drops suddenly. 

She goes to him. 
AOYAGI 

Riki, my august lord, listen to my heart. — 

6i 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

Forget my anger. — Tell me once again that 
you love me. — I'll believe. 
RIKI 

You know — I have always loved you. — When 
you were a song in my heart, I loved you so I 
And now — 

AOYAGI 

Oh, RIkl, can we ever forget the blow I struck? 

RIKI 

That was yesterday — see, this is today: the 
dawn has spread across the sky. What shall 
we do? Look back upon the bitterness of yes- 
terday, or try to see the fears of tomorrow, or 
live in the gladness of today? 

AOYAGI 

The Gaki of Kokoru Is here at the tree. He 
will not let us live In happiness. He let me go 
with you because he meant to feed upon the 
misery of poor Obaa-San. 

RIKI 

He has not come upon us yet. We are strug- 
gling against tomorrow. This is the dawning 
of today. 

AOYAGI 

Then shall we live — today. 
\_Obaa-San enters from the house. 

OBAA-SAN 

Come, Aoyagi; come, Riki. We have found 
happiness at our door. Within there is rice 
and tea. Come. 

[^They go into the house. The Gaki enters, 
THE GAKI 

There Is love ! — Now what shall I do for mis- 
ery? Old Obaa-San remembers happiness. 

62 




M 

Pi 

o 



o 

I— I 

Oh 

w 



H 

o 

Q 
< 

w 

h 






WEEPING WILLOW TREE 



She has taught 0-Katsu and 0-Sode to remem- 
ber happiness. The lovers are reunited; — 
now they understand. — And I — I, ah, I must 
die in this dread shape and stay in this hell 
through all the eternities unless I bring new 
misery to them. What can I do? {He turns 
to see the tree) Ah — I shall kill the tree — 
slowly — slowly — and I'll feed upon them all. 
Aoyagi is bound to the tree as one is bound to 
his body in a dream. — I'll kill the tree. 
\^He draws his short sword and smites the tree. 
There is a cry from the house and Aoyagi en- 
ters quickly^ followed by Riki, Obaa-San, 
0-Katsu-San, and 0-Sode-San. Aoyagi holds 
her heart. 
RIKI 

Aoyagi! {She droops in his arms. Obaa-San 
lays her hand upon her dear child's head. 
O-Katsu-San understands^ The Gaki in tri- 
umph smiles again. Aoyagi cries out and shud- 
ders as she clings to Riki) Oh, whatever power 
gave strength to me and led me to my love, give 
me the chance to save my love. 

AOYAGI 

The tree ! — The tree I 
[^The Gaki smites again. 

RIKI 

The Gaki of Kokoru! Ay, I knowl I know I 
I fight a fear, Obaa-San. Hold Aoyagi fast . — 
with all your love. — I shall find the Gaki of 
Kokoru ! ( The Gaki smites the tree again and 
again, and at each stroke Aoyagi fails more 
and more until she finally crumples in a heap 
among the three old women) All strength I 

63 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

All faith to me ! Into my hands give the power 
to break the bitterest hell asunder! Into my 
eyes put light that I may see the cowardly fears 
that infest our way.— Gaki ! Gaki ! where are 
you? — I pass about you and In my heart I 
carry fearlessness and faith. — Upon your 
wickedness I hurl belief. — Ah, now, I see you. 

THE GAKI 

Let me go I Let me go ! 

RIKI 

You shall bring misery into no more hearts ! 

THE GAKI 

Ah, pity me I Let me go ! I must feed or I 
shall die ! 
RIKI 

You shall feed no more I 

THE GAKI 

Do not let me die in this sixth hell! Do not 
let me die ! Once I was human — like you 
and you. I came into this hell because I was 
bitter in life. — I made misery for others. — I 
put mischief in their minds. — 
RIKI {leaping upon him) 

You shall make no more misery. 

THE GAKI 

Let me feed! Let me live! I can not die 
thus. 
RIKI {throttling him) 

Dread demon, the end has come I 

THE GAKI 

Please — please — hear me. 

RIKI 

Nay, you have made your last horror In our 
lives. 

64 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

OBAA-SAN 

RIki! Hear him — hear him. — We know not 
what we do, perhaps. 

RIKI 

Then speak. 
THE GAKI 

Let me go ! Do you think It did not punish 
me to see your misery, to bring misery upon 
you? That Is what these hells are. In hfe we 
can not always see what wretchedness we make; 
in the hells we see and know and understand, 
but we can not escape our evil until we've sucked 
the bitterness, the horror to the blackest end. 
Oh — five hells lie between me and human life. 
In each I may perchance forget the lesson 
learned before. Let me live! Let me live! 
— I can not fight your faith ! — Let me live I 

RIKI 

What further harm will you do ? 

THE GAKI 

I cannot help myself. I must live on you. — 
You are young — 

[He tears himself from Riki and once more 
rushes to the tree. Aoyagi writhes a moment 
in agony, Riki leaps upon The Gaki, throt- 
tling him once more. The struggle is terriffic, 

RIKI 

Die! 

THE GAKI 

Let me go ! Let me live ! — • I promise any- 
thing — I — 

RIKI , 

Too late ! — You shall harm no more ! 
\JVith one supreme effort. The Gaki draws him- 

6s 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

self to his full height and seems about to crush 
Riki. He leaps upon the prostrate Aoyagi and 
flings her body high above his head, Riki 
starts for him. 
THE GAKI 

I shall live ! I shall live I 

RIKI 

Aoyagi I 

THE GAKI 

Come not near me, RIkl, or I shall crush her at 
your feet. I shall live ! 

\^He laughs the hideous laugh of triumph which 
rang out on the mountain side yesterday, 
OBAA-SAN 

Give her back to us I Feed on me ! 

THE GAKI 

In your heart there Is only hope and beautiful 
memory. Old fool, I can not feed on you. — 
But now in my arms I hold the precious gift by 
which I shall pass from hell to hell. 

0-KATSU-SAN 

Take me! 

THE GAKI 

Silly old woman, you, too, like Obaa-San, can 
not feed me. Age learns to grasp at bubbles 
and pretend that they are stars. 
0-KATSU-SAN 

But I shall dream of my little girl. 

THE GAKI 

Ay, dream of her and have tender memories 
that are not pain. 

0-SODE-SAN 

I shall think of him and long for him, my 
lover. 

66 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 

THE GAKI 

Ay, and In the memory of the firefly fete you'll 
make a poem that will leave you all melting-like 
and holy — then where shall I feed? 

RIKI 

Obaa-San, are you content? I'll let her die at 
my own hand before I'll let him live. 
[He draws his dagger and leaps toward The 
Gaki; hut old Obaa-San is too swift for him. 
She catches his hand. 
OBAA-SAN 

Riki! Would you kill the evil by killing the 
joy of us all? 
RIKI 

But the joy — my little AoyagI — can not live 
so. See - — 

OBAA-SAN 

Gaki of Kokoru — I stand before you, no 
longer a suppliant. I am old and in my years 

1 have known all the wanting, all the hopeless- 
ness one can know in life. But in your evil 
way, you brought to me a moment of happiness 
yesterday and in that moment I saw the beauty 
that I had always believed must be and yet that 
I had never known. In your evil arms you hold 
the treasure of my hfe — you hold the songs 
that filled the heart of Riki. But you do not 
feed, oh, Gaki of Kokoru. You can not feed. 
Oh, Gaki, what is this sixth hell of yours? — 
Who made it? Some man who was afraid of 
the joy of life; — It was too beautiful for his 
belief. Misery makes itself: so happiness 
makes Itself. You stand before us, holding the 
darling of our dreams, but there Is no misery 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

so great as yours. See ! I stand before you 

— unafraid — and In my heart lies happiness. 

— AoyagI rested in my arms and my breast Is 
warm and there Is a glory where her dear head 
lay. In my life — If you take her from me — 
there will be an emptiness.— There will be long 
silences In the days to come; but my breast will 
still be warm with her touch and my ears will 
still hear the sweet words you cannot unsay — 
the lullaby I sang. — Oh, GakI — It has been 
sung to her. — The climbing to the mountain 
gleaming In the sun — the glade where love 
found the perfect mystery — that cannot be 
undone whether we live or die.- — Love that has 
been can never be undone. 

[The Gaki looks from one to the other ^ hut finds 
only that splendid happiness that is almost pain. 
He loosens his hold upon Aoyagi and turns to 
Riki with her. 

THE GAKI 

She Is yours I — I have met perfect faith. — 
Five hells He before me — but I have met a 
perfect faith. — You cannot know what wonder 
I am knowing. From the sixth hell I have seen 
a perfect faith. — I am content to die in this 
shape. Strike, Riki I 

RIKI 

I have my love. 

THE GAKI 

But a peace has come upon me, a peace that I 
have never known. — I seem to be on wings — 
afloat in the sky. — Stars and suns swing gently 
by — and cool clouds brush my brow. — Five 
hells lie before me. — Can It be, in each I shall 

68 



WEEPING WILLOW TREE 



find peace like this? — {He falls on his knees) 
Now a fire rages deep in me — a pain — I'm 
torn. — Oh, Obaa-San, I die — I die. — Come 
to me — touch me — let me feel your gentle 
hands. — So ! So ! — I have never known such 
gentleness. — Oh, I am cold — cold I Hold 
me — 

\^He rises ^ — sways — and falls. It is full day. 
The Gaki rises wonderfully. 
Obaa-San — I see — I see. — The hells were 
made by some man afraid of the joy of life. — 
It was too beautiful for his belief. — Riki — 
Aoyagi, there is the mountain gleaming in the 
morning light. — Go — see your footprints side 
by side. — A Gaki's feet trod upon them, but 
left no mark — and they are there side by side. 

— 0-Sode-San, I look across the River of 
Heaven; — there stands your lover waiting for 
you — an empty boat is here to bear you to him. 

— 0-Katsu-San, — the messenger of the other 
world bears your little one upon his broad, 
warm back. — They are smiling, 0-Katsu-San 

— Obaa-San — 

\^He points to Riki and Aoyagi. Obaa-San goes 
to them and lays her hands upon them, 

OBAA-SAN 

My little girl! — my little boy! — Today the 
sun is very bright. 



The Curtains Close. 



69 



THE VERY NAKED BOY 

An Interlude Before the Curtain 



CHARACTERS 

She 

He 

Brother 

The scene is half way to a proposal. 

A hallway with a heavily -curtained doorway in 
the centre. Right of this are two chairs with 
a tabouret between them. Right and Left are 
curtained arches. 



THE VERY NAKED BOY 



She enters quickly y crossing to the chairs, 

HE {following breathlessly and almost colliding 

with her as she stops) 

Genevieve I 
SHE (with a calmness strangely at variance with 

her entrance) 

Well? 

HE 

Why did you ■ — • 

SHE 

I didn't. 

HE 

I beg your pardon, you may not have known It, 
but you did. 

SHE 

I didn't. 

HE 

If you'll only say you didn't mean it. 

SHE 

I didn't do It. 

HE 

Now, Genevieve, you know — ^ 

SHE 

I didn't. 

HE 

Well, why did you — ? 

SHE 

/ didn't do it! 
HE (meltingly but without humor or subtlety) 

Well, if you didn't do it, dear — 

[She is adamant. 

Why did you run away the moment I came up 

to you? 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

SHE 

I didn't run away — 

\[He looks at her quizzically. 

I just came out here. 
HE {hoping it isn't true) 

But you seemed to be trying to avoid me. 
SHE (with sphinx-like indifference) 

Why should I avoid you? 

HE 

Genevieve! You make it impossible for me 
to talk to you. . . . I'll apologise if it will help. 

SHE 

Why should you apologise? 

HE 

Perhaps I've misconstrued your meaning. 

SHE 

I didn't mean anything — 

[He smiles pleasantly with more hope than dis' 

cretion. 

— because I didn't do it. 

HE 

Now, Genevieve, I saw you do it. 

SHE 

You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Gordon, from 
further discussion. 

[She seats herself, fully prepared for 'all the 
discussion she can force from him. 

HE 

But, Genevieve — 
[He seats himself, 

SHE 

I didn't do it — and besides if I did what dif- 
ference does it make? I'm free white and 
twenty-one. 

74 



THE VERY NAKED BOY 



HE {with a frail attempt at humor) 
How old did you say? 

SHE 

I said I was free white. 

HE 

But, Genevieve, you must admit that — 

SHE 

Mr. Gordon! 

HE 

Please call me Henry. {In his emotion he pro- 
nounces it Hennery) 

SHE 

I don't see why I should. 

HE 

You did last night. 

SHE 

That was different. You were Dr. Jekyll last 
night. 
HE 

Oh, Genevieve — 

SHE 

You're showing your true colors tonight. 
HE {appealingly) 

I'm — sorry — 
SHE 

You're a tyrant. 

HE 

I don't mean to be. I think you're wo — 

SHE . J . 

Now don't be personal. I'm not mterested m 

your thoughts. 

HE 

But, Genevieve, won't you tell me why you did 

it? 

IS 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

SHE 

I did it because — I've told you often enough I 
didn't do it. 
HE (bitterly) 
Joe — 

SHE 

Joe — what? 

HE 

Joe squeezed your hand. 

SHE 

Well, it's my hand, and besides I don't see why 
I should be cross-questioned by you. 

HE 

You know Tm ■ — 

\_He leans toward her and she moves away. 

SHE 

You're what? 

HE 

Pm crazy about you. 

SHE 

Please, Mr. Gordon I 

HE 

Call me Henry! Just once. 

SHE 

I don't see why I should. 
HE 

Please, Genevieve. 

SHE 

Now don't be silly ! 

HE 

Oh, Genevieve, if you only knew how it hurt me 
when you did it! 
SHE 

Did It hurt you? 

76 



THE VERY NAKED BOY 



HE 

I could have killed Joe — gladly. 

SHE 

Honest! 

HE 

You know — you must know! 

SHE 

You certainly are calm about It. 
HE {in the most absurd position that hopeless love 
can twist a man into) 
What can I do? I can't be ridiculous. 

SHE 

Did you really see us? 

HE 

Yes, I saw you. 

SHE 

You seemed terribly tied up with Ethel. 

HE 

I had to sit by her. 

SHE 

I don't see why. 

HE 

I didn't have any place else to go. 

SHE 

I knew you were looking. 

HE 

Then why did you do It? 

SHE 

Don't ask me why. I loathe why. 

HE 

But oh, Genevieve, I love you so! 

[He grasps her hand, not too violently. She 

gasps slightly, smiles pleasantly and becomes 

stern. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

SHE {encouragingly) 

Please, let go of my hand. 

[^He does so. She looks at him in mingled 

wonder and chagrin* 
HE 

Genevieve, Isn't there any chance for me? 

SHE 

I've never thought of such a thing. What do 
you mean I 
HE 

I mean I love you. 

SHE 

. . . Yes? 
HE {taking her scarf in his hand) 
Aren't you Interested? 

SHE 

Why, really, Mr. Gordon, you ask such strange 
questions. 
HE 

Oh, Genevieve — Genevieve — 

[He kisses the scarf gently. 
SHE {looking at him in wonder , disappointment 

and delight. 

Don't be silly. 
HE 

When a man's In love he always does silly 

things. 

SHE 

Always? 

HE 

Oh, Genevieve — 

[He reaches for her hand reverently and this 
time she seems content to let matters rest, 
SHE {making conversation) 

78 



THE VERY NAKED BOY 



I have the next dance with — 

[She racks her memory. 
HE 

Joe, I suppose. 

[He rises and crosses to the far side of the 

centre arch. 
SHE {drawing her scarf about her and brushing 

against him as she passes. 

Excuse me, please. 
HE (torrentially) 

You shall not go. You shall listen to me. 

You have no right to treat me as a plaything 

when I love you so! I love you so! I love 

you so ! I think of you all day long, I lie awake 

at night wondering what stars are looking upon 

you and I find myself envying them — every 

one of them. 

[She tries to speak, but he presses her head 

against his shoulder. 

I won't listen. You must hear me out. I've 

waited days and days and days for this chance 

to speak to you, and you've trailed me about 

like — like — like a poodle. I'm tired of it 

because I love you so. 

[She tries to speak again; but succeeds only in 

mussing her hair. 
HE 

I want you to marry me, and marry me you 
shall if I have to carry you away with me. Oh, 
Genevieve, my darling Genevieve, just know 
that for this moment I am almost completely 
happy. You are close to me and I do not feel 
any struggle against me. Oh, if you will only 
listen to me, I do not mean to be brutal. I 

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have torn your dress. I have mussed your 
precious hair. But I love you so I I love you 
so I 

SHE 

Oh, Henry — Henry — You are so wonderful ! 
\_They embrace one long moment when an arm 
comes out between the curtains and tugs at his 
coat. 

He lets go of her as though he had been shot, 
turns and sees the naked arm and the top of the 
Boy's head. 
BOY {whispering) 
Get her out of here I 

SHE 

Oh, Henry, Henry, have I been cruel to you? 
HE {constrained) 

We'd better go. 
SHE {looks questioningly at him) 

Please let's stay here. 

{^He presses her head against his breast and 

looks surreptitiously at the curtains. 

The Boy makes as though to get out. 

He starts violently — shoves the Boy hack. 

SHE 

I saw you first — do you remember — at 
Poughkeepsie. 

HE 

Yes, yes — 

SHE 

I think — I liked you then. . . But I never 
thought you'd be so wonderful. 

HE 

Let's go {whispering) . Darling, let's go. 

80 




The Very Naked Boy 



THE VERY NAKED BOY 



SHE 

No, I want to stay here. I love this nook. 
[^He laughs nervously as she crosses to the cur- 
tains, 

I should love to fill it full of great tall lilies. 
\^By this time she has become lyric and swept 
her arms against the curtains: with a cry, rush' 
ing to him for protection. 
Henry, there's a man behind those curtains I 

HE 

I think we'd better go. 

SHE 

Oh, Henry, you're not going to leave him here. 

HE 

We'd better. 
BOY {poking his head and a naked arm through 
the curtains. 

Yes, you'd better, because I'm going to get out 
of here. 

SHE 

Boh! You get your clothes onl 

BOY 

I told Mr. Gordon to get my clothes. 

SHE 

Mr. Gordon — 

BOY 

Call him Henry — just once — please, Gene- 
vieve. 
HE {stiffly) 

I'll get your clothes. Where are they? 

BOY 

In my room. 

8i 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

HE 

What do you want? 

BOY 

Everything. 
SHE {straightening up) 

Don't be common, Robert. 
\^He starts for the door, 

HE 

No, Fm not going. 

SHE 

Hen — Mr. Gordon! . . . Very well. V\\ 
go! 

HE 

No, you won't go either! 

SHE 

Please ! 

BOY 

Well, I'll go. 

\^Boy moves as though to part the curtains. 

She screams a stifled little scream and both he 

and she rush to the curtains to hold them tO' 

gether, 

SHE 

Oh, Bob, if you won't get out I'll do anything 
for you. 

BOY 

Well, I'm cold. 

SHE 

Mr. Gordon, please go. 

HE 

I won't go! 

SHE 

You are very strange, indeed. . . . I'll go! 
[She nears the door. — Stops. 

82 



THE VERY NAKED BOY 



SHE 

Never mind. 

BOY 

Oh, Henry, It's Ethel. 

HE 

Bob, won't you be a good sport? We'll turn 
our backs. 

BOY 

But will everybody else turn their back? 

HE 

Old man, can't you see how It Is? We're — 
we're going to be engaged — and Ethel is out 
there — and — and — well — • 

BOY 

Joe's out there, toio. 

HE 

Well, yes. 

SHE 

Bob, I shall tell Fat'her on you. 
[She starts. 
BOY 

All right, go .ahead. I'll tell Ethel. 

SHE 

Just wait. 
BOY \ 

I'll get out of here ! 

[Again the two rush precipitately to hold the 

Boy in place, 
HE 

Bob, be a man I You are childish and common. 
You are old enough to know better and I think 
it's an outrage for you to subject your sister to 
this fright. We can't go out of here just now 

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— and you're making it very embarrassing for 
us. 

SHE 

Mr. Gordon — there's a cape In that closet. 
Will you get It for Bob. . . He says he's cold. 
[He goes to the closet. 

SHE 

Bob, Fll get even with you. You ought to be 
ashamed. I'm humiliated. 

BOY 

Why — Sis? 

SHE 

Imagine my being with a gentleman and having 
a very naked boy pop Into the conversation. 
[He returns with the cape. 

HE 

Here's the cape. 

[He tosses it over the Boy's head and suddenly 
leans over and kisses her. 
BOY 

Why don't you smother me I 
[Boy begins to emerge. 

SHE 

Bob, be careful. 
[He and She turn away. 

The Boy rises and as he does so the cloak falls 
about him until, when he steps out of the cur- 
tains he discloses trousers and shoes. 
BOY 

I can't go through the hall looking like this. 

SHE 

You must. 
HE {turning) 

84 



THE VERY NAKED BOY 



Go away, Bob. Your sister is very nervous. 
[^He sees the boy fairly well clothed. He gasps, 
HE 

Why — 

SHE 

Bob — 

[Turning she sees the hoy fairly well clothed. 
I thought — How did you — Why didn't you 
— What were you doing in there? 

BOY 

Father was going to get strict and keep me off 
the water tonight and just as I came down here 
to get my sweater I heard him coming to the 
coat room so I jumped behind the curtains and 
let him pass and then Joe and Ethel came in 
and I couldn't let them see me this way. And 
then somebody else came and then you came 
in — well, I got cold. 

HE {looking out) 

Run on now, Bob, the hall is clear. 
\^Boy starts. 

BOY 

What was it you did. Sis? 

SHE 

I didn't do it. 
BOY 

Why didn't you do it? 

SHE 

I didn't do anything 

BOY 

He said Joe squeezed your hand. 

SHE 

Absurd I 

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BOY 

Well, I hope not, because 'he and Ethel got 
engaged in here too ! 

\^He and She look fondly at each other and 
He murmurs, " Genevieve " as he reaches out 
for her. 

The Boy begins to sing, '^ Oh, Genevieve, Sweet 
Genevieve,'' and they become aware of him, 
turning upon him and pursuing him with a warn- 
ing cry of " Bob." 



The End 



86 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 
A Play in Three Acts 



CHARACTERS 

Aunt Letitia 
Susan Sample 
Uncle Nathaniel 
Uncle John 
Jonathan 
Mlle. Perrault 
Hank 

Albert Peet 
Mary 
John III 



ACT I 

Jonathan Makes a Friend 

l_The scene represents the lumber room in the 
carriage house on John Clay's suburban estate. 
The room is crowded with old trunks, paintings, 
barrels, boxes, chests, furniture showing long 
residence during slow epochs of changing taste. 
Everything is in good order and carefully la- 
belled. At the right of the room is a door 
opening onto the stairs which lead to the ground 
floor. A small window is set high in the peak 
of the gabled end up centre. At the left a chim- 
ney comes through the floor and cuts into the 
roof as though it had been added by Victorian 
standards of taste for exterior beautification. 
An open stove intrudes its pipe into the chim- 
ney. The single indication of the life of today 
having touched the place is the studied arrange- 
ment of an old rosewood square grand piano. 
The keyboard is uncovered. On the top is a 
tiny theatre — a model masked and touched 
with mystery, according to early adolescent 
standards. Two benches stand in front of the 
piano, and the piano stool is meticulously set in 
place. A flamboyant placard leaning against 
the music rack announces : 

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TODAY 

ZENOBIA 

A tragedy in ten acts 
by 
Alexander Jefferson, Sr. 
The light in the room is dim, although it is quite 
bright out of doors. There are two low win- 
dows which are heavily barred. The little thea- 
tre is so arranged that when the manipulator 
stands on the box to work it, his head can he 
seen over the masking. 

The curtain rises disclosing an empty room. 
Presently laborious steps are heard on the stairs 
and a key is turned in the lock. Then Aunt 
Letitia enters followed by Susan Sample. Aunt 
Letitia is a motherly old woman who has been 
in the Clay home for many years. She may 
have preferences, but like the buildings on the 
estate, she stays where she is. Susan Sample is 
a tall, slender girl of fourteen with a very gen- 
tle manner and a way of looking at people that 
indicates a receptivity rarely met in one so old. 
Letitia goes to one of the trunks marked E R 
in large white letters and unlocks it. 
LETITIA 

Here they are, my dear. Help me with the 
hasps. 

SUSAN 

What does E. R. really stand for, Mis' Letitia? 

LETITIA 

E. R. . . . That's a secret, Susan, that little 
girls aren't supposed to know. 

90 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



SUSAN 

I won^t telL 

L,ETITIA 

But what good would that do, my sweet? 
Please open the windows. 
SUSAN {opening the window and returning to her 
question) 
No one would know you told me. 

LETITIA 

I would know. Yes, I would know that I had 
told somebody else's secret. 

SUSAN 

Whose secret is it? Please. 

LETITIA , . r 

I've been living In this house for thirty-five 
years, Susan, and I've known the secrets of all 
the boys and girls from time to time. 

SUSAN 

You know mine, too. 

LETITIA 

And I've never told one of them, either. 

SUSAN \ 

Does old Mr. John ever have secrets? 

LETITIA 

Old Mr. John ! For shame ! ... Of course 
he has secrets. 
SUSAN 

I wish I knew some of his. Mis' Letitia. 

LETITIA . 

My dear, you never will know them. John is 

very quiet. 

SUSAN 

Who in the family didn't have any secrets at 
all? 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

LETITIA 

Oh, they all had secrets when they were young. 
Nathaniel had fewer than any of them and . . . 
[^Her words are lost tenderly in a memory, 

SUSAN 

Why hasn't he ever come back home? 

LETITIA {as she busies herself with the contents 
of the trunk) 

That is his secret, Susan, and we mustn't ask 
too many questions. Nathaniel is coming to- 
day. I won't ask any questions. . . . He was 
a fine young man. Yes, he's coming back 
today, my dear. He was the baby of the 
family. 

SUSAN 

How old is he now? 

LETITIA 

You little chatterbox! Between you and Jona- 
than I have to fight to keep anybody's secrets. 

SUSAN 

Does Jonathan ask many questions? 

LETITIA 

When we're alone he does. He's just like his 

Uncle Nathaniel. God bless him! 
SUSAN {seeing a costume in the trunk) 

Oh, Isn't that just wonderful ! 
LETITIA {holding the costume up for Susan to see) 

That is what you can wear in the pageant, my 

dear Susan. 
SUSAN {taking the costume) 

Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! . . . I wish I knew whose it 

was. 

LETITIA 

Would that make It any prettier? 

92 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



SUSAN 

No, but I'd like to know just the same. . . . 

Was it E. R.'s? 

[J cry is heard outside, " Aunt Letty! Aunt 

Letty!" 

LETITIA 

Oh, Susan, it's Nathaniel ! It's my boy. Here 

I am, dear. 

[She has an armful of costumes which she drops 

nervously. 

SUSAN 

Mis' Letitia, I believe you love him best of all ! 

LETITIA 

No, I don't, but I always understood him, I 
think. 

[The voice below calls again, "Where are 
you?" 

Come up here, my boy. Come up to the lum- 
ber room. 

[Steps are heard on the stairs, young eager 
steps, and Nathaniel Clay hursts into the room. 
He is an eternally young man of thirty-five, who 
has touched the dregs and the heights of the 
world and remained himself. 

NATHANIEL {taking Letitia in his arms, then hold- 
ing her from him as he inspects her. 
Aunt Letty ! Not a day older. . . . But oh, so 
wise. 

LETITIA 

Nathaniel, my boy, my darling, darling boy. 

NATHANIEL 

Now, now. Don't cry. 
LETITIA 

My boy, my boy. My splendid boy. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 



[Susan has forgotten her costume in her ad- 
miration for Nathaniel. She puts it down on 
the bench in front of the piano, 

NATHANIEL 

And this Is — 

LETITIA 

This is Susan Sample. 

NATHANIEL 

Not — 

LETITIA 

Yes, time has been flying, Nathaniel. This 
young lady is Mary Sample's daughter. 

NATHANIEL 

How do you do ? I can't believe It. You were 
only a little pink cherub up there In the sky when 
I ran — 
LETITIA {hurriedly interrupting him) 

Yes, Susan was born three years after you went 
away. 

NATHANIEL 

Oh! . . . And, Aunt Letitia, youVe opened 
Emily's trunk! 

LETITIA 

Yes, Susan Is golng-to be in a pageant. 

SUSAN 

Who was Emily? 

NATHANIEL 

She was — 

LETITIA 

Nathaniel dear, you must not satisfy her curi- 
osity, 

{To Susan) 

You go find Jonathan, dear, and tell him that 
his uncle is here. 

94 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



( To Nathaniel) 

I'll put these things away, and we'll go Into the 
house. 
SUSAN {reluctantly) 
Good-bye, Mr. Clay. 

NATHANIEL 

Good-bye, Susan. You'll come back, won't 
you? 

SUSAN 

Oh, yes. Good-bye. 

NATHANIEL 

Good-bye. 
[^Susan goes out. 

LETITIA 

She hates to go. She's never seen anyone just 
like you : and I have only seen one. 

NATHANIEL 

Who's Jonathan? 

LETITIA 

He's the one. . . He^s Emily's boy. \ 

NATHANIEL 

You mean Emily — 

LETITIA 

No, no, my dear. Emily was married, left the 
stage. She wasn't happy. The boy was her 
only comfort. 

NATHANIEL 

He's my nephew. Why, I'm Uncle Nathaniel. 
Oh, Aunt Letty, I'm getting to be an old man ! 

LETITIA 

Nathaniel, Jonathan doesn't know about his 
mother. I sent Susan away because I didn't 
want her to associate these things with Jona- 
than's mother. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

NATHANIEL 

My God, Emily didn't do anything wrong. 

LETITIA 

Well, she was an actress. 

NATHANIEL 

And a good one, too. 

LETITIA 

Yes, yes, dear. All that has been talked over 
many times, but John is the head of the family 
and he doesn't approve of the stage. 

NATHANIEL 

So ! John Is still himself. 

LETITIA 

John Is austere, Nathaniel. He Is a Clay 
through and through and he holds to the tradi- 
tions of the family. 

NATHANIEL 

I remember the traditions, Aunt Letltla. 

LETITIA 

I never oppose John. He feels that he Is right. 
But it is very hard sometimes to live up to his 
rules. 

NATHANIEL 

Has he rules? 

LETITIA 

Well, he has Ideas, dear — much like your fa- 
ther's. We might call them rules. 

NATHANIEL 

Where is Emily? 

LETITIA 

Two years ago, Nathaniel. 
[There is a moment^ s silence. 
NATHANIEL 

Did she ever go back to the stage? 

96 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



No. John forbade it. 

NATHANIEL 

And John Is still forbidding. 

LETITIA 

John is the head of the family. 

NATHANIEL 

So. . . The Clay family is still an absolute 
monarchy. 
LETITIA 

Nathaniel, dear, will you promise me — 
NATHANIEL {with a sm'ile) 
I'll try. 

LETITIA - 

Will you promise not to antagonize John? 

NATHANIEL 

Will John antagonize me? I came back to see 
my home — to see you, my dear aunt. But I 
am a grown man now. \ 

LETITIA 

Won't you try to be patient? It will be pleas- 
anter for me. And I have waited so long to see 
you, Nathaniel. There are seventeen very, 
very long years for us tc talk about. Let John 
have his way. 

NATHANIEL 

Well, I'll try for a few days. But I give you 
warning, my ideas have been settling during the 
past few years, too. 

LETITIA 

Remember, he is used to being obeyed just as 
your father was. 
NATHANIEL 

Yes, I remember that, dear Aunt; but John isn't 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

I 

my father. He is just a brother to whom fate 
gave a fifteen years' start by birth. 
[As a voice calls, " Nathaniel, are you up 
there? " Nathaniel looks at Letitia. 
NATHANIEL 

His voice is just the same. {Calling) Yes, 
John, I am up here. 

[The antagonism between the two brothers is 
apparent immediately. 

John Clay enters. He is an austere, pompous 
man of fifty who has the softness of the tithe- 
collector and the hardness of the tax-collector. 
He speaks with an adamantine finality which is 
destined to rude shattering. 
JOHN 

How do you do, Nathaniel? 

NATHANIEL 

I am very well, I thank you, John. How are 
you? 

[They shake hands perfunctorily, 
JOHN 

You arrived ahead of time. 

NATHANIEL 

Yes. 

JOHN 

We haven't met for seventeen years. 

NATHANIEL 

No. I've been away, John. 

JOHN 

Where have you been? 

NATHANIEL 

I shall be here for two weeks, John, and if I 
should tell you all about myself today, I should 
have nothing to talk about tomorrow. 

98 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



JOHN {severely) , . , xr -n 

You haven't changed, Nathaniel. You are still 
frivolous. 

NATHANIEL 

I shall be serious when I am your age, brother. 

JOHN 

I came out here to ask you to be very careful ot 
your conversation before the children. 

NATHANIEL 

The children? 

JOHN 

Yes, my two grandchildren.- — 

NATHANIEL 

Grandchildren! My, that makes me a great 
uncle. I am getting old, Aunt Letitia ! 

JOHN 

I do not care to have them or Jonathan hear 
about any revolutionary or other unusual ideas. 

NATHANIEL 

I shall try not to contaminate the children and 
Jonathan. How old are the children? 

JOHN 

Mary is four and John 3rd is two. 

NATHANIEL 

I shall try to spare their sensibilities. 

JOHN 

They may not understand you but they will 
hear. 
NATHANIEL {to Letitia) 
How old is Jonathan? 

LETITIA 

Fourteen. 

NATHANIEL 

The impressionable age. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JOHN 

The silly age. 

NATHANIEL 

Brother John, no age Is the silly age. Fourteen 
is the age of visions and enchantments and 
fears. What a boy of fourteen sees and hears 
takes on a value that we cannot underestimate. 
Most men are defeated in life between fourteen 
and twenty. At fourteen a boy begins to make 
a lens through which he sees life. He thinks 
about everything. Ambition is beginning to 
stir In him and he begins to know why he likes 
things, why he wants to do certain things. He 
formulates lasting plans for the future and he 
takes In Impressions that are Indelible. Things 
that seem nothing to old people become memo- 
orles to him that affect his whole life. The 
memory of a smile may encourage him to sur- 
mount all obstacles and the memory of a bitter- 
ness may act as an eternal barrier. 
JOHN 

Nathaniel, are you a father? 

NATHANIEL 

No, John, I am only a bachelor who is very 
much In love with life In general and one lady in 
particular. 

JOHN 

You can know nothing of children, then. 

NATHANIEL 

I remember myself. Most men forget their 
younger selves and that is fatal. 

JOHN 

One would think to hear you talk that the most 

100 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

important things in life were a boy of fourteen 
and his moorings. 
NATHANIEL 

One might know it. 

JOHN 

You are still the same impractical theorist. 

NATHANIEL 

I am the same theorist — a little older, a little 
more travelled. The trouble with you, John, 
is that you think no age is important except 
your own. You always thought that, even 
when you were fourteen. Oh, I know I wasn't 
born then, but I know you. 

JOHN 

Did you come back to your home in order to 
lecture me? 

NATHANIEL 

No, no. I beg your pardon. I came back to 
see my home and Aunt Letitia and the children 
— and you, and I — I think — Jonathan. 

JOHN 

Nathaniel, when your letter came telling me that 
you had decided to come back to see us, I was 
going to ask you not to come - — 

NATHANIEL 

I gave no address. 

JOHN 

But on second thought, I made up my mind to 
forgive you — 
NATHANIEL 

Thank you. 

JOHN 

To let bygones be bygones. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 



NATHANIEL 

' That Is the better way, brother : let the dead 

past bury Its dead. 

JOHN 

Why did you run away from home ? 

1 NATHANIEL 

Because we couldn't agree, John. 

JOHN 

I was older than you ; my judgment was mature ; 
I was the head of the family, in my father's 
place 

NATHANIEL 

We didn't speak the same language. I wanted 
something out of life that you couldn't under- 
stand; that my father couldn't understand. I 
determined to get It by myself. 

JOHN 

Well? 

NATHANIEL 

And SO, I ran away. 

JOHN 

Leaving no trace, no word. 

NATHANIEL 

Oh, yes, I left a very Important word — " Good- 
bye." 

JOHN 

You were willing to leave all the work of our 
father's business on my shoulders. 

NATHANIEL 

You were willing to take It all. And I wanted 
my freedom. 

JOHN 

You were selfish and heartless. 

102 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

NATHANIEL 

Selfish? Because I had my life to live and 
meant to live it? 

JOHN 

You should have told us where you were living. 

NATHANIEL 

I preferred to work out my salvation alone, 
without interference. My going away gave 
you a free hand. John, don't tell me that you 
were not overjoyed that my flight gave you all 
my father's fortune. 

JOHN 

It was my duty as head of the family to protect 
you. 

NATHANIEL 

I didn't ask for protection. I wanted under- 
standing. 

JOHN 

A boy of eighteen must not be allowed freedom. 

NATHANIEL 

Perhaps not, John, but he must be allowed to 
grow toward his goal. Eighteen is not too 
young for a man to fly through the air in de- 
fense of his country, or you. The burden of 
the world today is on the shoulders of men from 
eighteen to eighty, share and share alike. . . . 
I wanted to be a writer — 

JOHN 

And our brother Henry wanted to be a musical 
composer and our sister Emily wanted to be an 
actress! A fine putout for the leading com- 
mercial family of this state I 

NATHANIEL 

Well, John, our brother and our sister have 

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paid the final penalty. They have died. Henry 
left a handful of worthless little tunes and Em- 
ily left a trunkful of costumes as monuments 
to their folly. And now Emily's boy is here 
under your wing. 

JOHN 

He's a dreamer like all the rest of you. 
NATHANIEL {with interest; tenderly) 
Yes? 

JOHN 

He spends all his leisure time playing with that 
fool toy there. 

[He points to the model theatre, 
Nathaniel smiles and crosses to the piano and 
lifts the cloth that covers the theatre; then he 
looks at the placard and laughs joyously. 
NATHANIEL 

" Zenobia." " Alexander Jefferson, Sr." 

JOHN 

He pretends that's his name — Alexander Jef- 
ferson, Sr! 

NATHANIEL 

People like to have other names. Look at all 
artists — like writers, pugilists, and actors, and 
base ball players. And the Sr. is an effort to 
appear older. 

JOHN 

Well, Fm breaking him of all that nonsense. I 
allow him only a certain number of hours for 
play. Emily used to spoil him and it's been a 
task to conquer him. 
NATHANIEL 

Jonathan Is fourteen. When I was fourteen — 
What are Jonathan's tastes? 

104 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

JOHN 

He reads all the time and he wants to write 
plays and poetry; but I am conquering that sil- 
liness. 

NATHANIEL 

I think I am going to like my nephew. John, 
I'll come into the house shortly. I think I'll 
look at this toy a moment and I'll get Aunt Leti- 
tia to show me some of Emily's things. A mere 
matter of sentiment. 

JOHN 

Now don't put any foolishness into the boy's 
head. 

NATHANIEL 

I promise you I sha'n't try to change the boy's 
head, brother. 

JOHN 

I play golf from ^vt to six. 

NATHANIEL 

Oh, you've taken up athletics? 

JOHN 

The doctor's advice. Will you join me? 

NATHANIEL 

Thank you, no. 

JOHN 

Very well. I'll see you at dinner. 

NATHANIEL 

Thank you. ( John goes out. Nathaniel looks 
musingly at Letitia who has been sitting silently 
on Emily's trunk, knitting. Nathaniel crosses 
to her and sits on a stool at her feet) Does 
John always talk to you so much, little church 
mouse? 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

LETITIA 

I have been a poor relation for thirty-five years, 
my boy, and to be a successful poor relation, 
one must learn the art of silence. 

NATHANIEL 

No wonder I ran awayl 

LETITIA 

But you should have written to me. 

NATHANIEL 

Perhaps — I should — yes — I should have 
written, but I didn't. You see, Aunt Letty, I 
was a sensitive boy. All my life I had dreamed 
of doing my own work. I saw Henry disap- 
pointed in life, I saw Emily made miserable 
enough through the traditions of the family. 
John couldn't understand me and I couldn't un- 
derstand him. There was no common meeting- 
ground. John was the head of the family and 
so deeply was the idea of submission to rule 
ingrained in me that I could think of only one 
way out of my restraint. I wouldn't study en- 
gineering, and I wouldn't continue at Somerset 
School. Well, I ran away from my ancestral 
castle to find my way In a new world. I think I 
have found it. 

LETITIA 

Jonathan doesn't want to study engineering, 
either. 
NATHANIEL (Looks closely at her a moment 
and then smiles) 

As Ibsen would say — Ghosts ! {He walks tO' 
ward the window) Poor John I 

LETITIA 

Poor Jonathan ! 

io6 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

l^At this moment Jonathan enters the room. 
He is a slender boy of fourteen with a deep 
problem in his eyes. When he smiles before 
his elders, which is seldom, he seems always 
prepared to restrain the smile. His voice is 
just changing and this adds to his reticence. 
He has a tremendous capacity for expressing 
wonderment and, as usual with one of his type, 
he is capable of great displays of temper. He 
gives the impression of thinking about every- 
thing he sees. He is at the age of wonder and 
only custom prevents the world from becoming 
the promised land of visions and enchantments. 

NATHANIEL 

Poor Jonathan! 
\^He turns and sees the boy. 
The two stand face to face for a moment. For 
Nathaniel it is the first moment of a new rela- 
tionship. For Jonathan it is a moment of un- 
certainty. He has heard himself called '' Poor 
Jonathan '^ and he is facing another male rela- 
tive. 

Jonathan looks first at Letitia, then at Nathaniel 
and then at Letitia. 
LETITIA 

Jonathan, this Is your Uncle Nathaniel. Na- 
thaniel, this Is Emily's boy. 

NATHANIEL {Holds out his hand which Jona- 
than takes very shyly) 
Jonathan ! 

JONATHAN 

How do you do, sir? 

NATHANIEL 

How tall you are I 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN (quite conscious of his short trousers) 
Yes, sir. 

NATHANIEL 

I didn't take you away from any studies, did I ? 

JONATHAN 

No, sir. . . I was just writing something when 
Susan called me. 

NATHANIEL 

May I ask what you were writing? 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir. ... 
[He swallows, 
... A play. 

NATHANIEL 

A play I Zenohia? 
JONATHAN {Looks quickly for some indication 

of laughter in Nathaniel* s eyes) 

Yes, sir. 

NATHANIEL 

It's a tragedy, isn't it? 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir. 

NATHANIEL 

In ten acts. 

JONATHAN 

There may be only eight. 

NATHANIEL 

Then I know who you are! (Jonathan looks 
at him in surprise) You are the celebrated 
dramatist, Alexander Jefferson, Sr. 

JONATHAN 

Did Aunt Letltia tell you? 

NATHANIEL 

No, sir. I read it on the billboards. {Jona- 

io8 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

than laughs with a catch in his breath) And I 
should like to attend a performance, Mr. Jef- 
ferson. 

JONATHAN 

It isn't finished yet. 

NATHANIEL 

Well, when am I to see this theatre? 

LETITIA 

Your Uncle Nathaniel and I shall come to- 
gether. 

JONATHAN 

You've seen all the plays. 

LETITIA 

That doesn't make any difference. I'd like to 
see them again. 

[^Jonathan looks at her to he sure she is in ear- 
nest. Then he smiles. 

JONATHAN 

I'll finish Zenohia for tomorrow. 

NATHANIEL 

Agreed ! Can you get the scenery ready? 

JONATHAN 

I painted It last week. 

LETITIA 

You must have the orchestra, too, Jonathan. 

JONATHAN 

Yes, ma'am. Susan has some new pieces. 

NATHANIEL 

Is Susan the orchestra? 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir. 

NATHANIEL 

What else have you written? 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN 

A lot of plays, sir. Mother and I used to write 
little plays. I don't write many any more. 

NATHANIEL 
Why not? 
JONATHAN 

I'm getting too big. 

NATHANIEL 

Do you ever write anything beside plays? 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir. 

NATHANIEL 

That's splendid. Stories? 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir. . . . And IVe written some po — 
poetry. 

NATHANIEL 

Excellent ! 

JONATHAN 

They're not very good, but Susan always wants 
me to write the poetry for the music. 
[Aunt Letitia has repacked the trunk and 
locked it. She sees that Nathaniel and Jona- 
than are getting on famously, 
LETITIA 

I'll go to the house now and you can talk to 
Jonathan, Nathaniel. 

[Jonathan looks appealingly at Letitia, hut 
with a smile she goes downstairs. 
Jonathan and Nathaniel look at each other for 
an embarrassed minute^ then Jonathan takes 
refuge at his theatre. 
NATHANIEL 

May I see some of your plays? 

IIO 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

JONATHAN 

Do you really want to see them? 

NATHANIEL 

Yes. 

[Jonathan goes to a box on the piano in which 
there are many manuscripts carefully hound. 
He hands one to Nathaniel, 

JONATHAN 

Here Is one that mother and I wrote. She 
loved the theatre. 
NATHANIEL {taking the strange-looking little 
manuscript. Reading:) 
" Robin Hood and His Merry Men." 

JONATHAN 

We used to make all those old stories Into plays. 

NATHANIEL 

Do you like to write? 

JONATHAN 

Oh, yes. I wish I could write real plays, but 
there's no one to help me now. My mother 
used to correct them and tell me what was 
wrong. She knew a lot about the theatre and 
she used to tell me all sorts of things. But now 
Aunt Letitia doesn't say anything. Sometimes 
she comes to a show, but she can't help me. 
And Uncle John doesn't like the theatre. He 
thinks I'm too old to give shows, but I can't help 
it. There's nothing I like so much. 

NATHANIEL 

May I read this some time? 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir. . . Would you like to see it played? 

NATHANIEL 

I want to see them all. 

Ill 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN 

Forty-one of them? 

NATHANIEL 

Forty-one of them ! Where do you keep them 
all? 

JONATHAN 

Here In this box. 

\_He shows all the manuscripts, 

NATHANIEL 

What are the pink ones? 

JONATHAN 

Those are the ones mother liked best and 
these — {showing blue ones) are the ones I 
liked best. ... I like them all now, but It used 
to be lots of fun to choose our favorites. 

NATHANIEL 

What Is this one that's different from all the 
rest? 

JONATHAN 

That's one that mother wrote all by herself. 
It's best of all. 

NATHANIEL 

You must save these carefully, Jonathan - — all 
your life. 

JONATHAN 

Oh, yes, sir. 

NATHANIEL 

Some day you may be proud of them. 

JONATHAN 

See — she wrote this, and I wrote this. I was 
a bad writer, wasn't I? 

NATHANIEL 

What do you want to do, Jonathan? 

112 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

JONATHAN 

You mean what do I want to be? 

NATHANIEL 

Yes. 

JONATHAN 

I want to write plays. 

NATHANIEL 

Is that all? 

JONATHAN 

Well, I'd like to run a theatre. 

NATHANIEL 

What else ? 

JONATHAN 

rd — you won't tell anyone, will you? 

NATHANIEL 

Of course not. 

JONATHAN 

You see, Uncle John wants me to go to Somer- 
set School to study engineering and learn the 

business. 

NATHANIEL 

And you don't want to — Is that it? 

JONATHAN 

I'd rather be a writer. 

NATHANIEL 

They say you can't make any money at writing. 

JONATHAN 

That's what Uncle John says, but I want to just 
the same. 

NATHANIEL 

If you follow John's advice, you'll be a rich 
man. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN 

I'd rather be poor. What would you do, Un- 
cle Nathaniel? 

NATHANIEL 

I — why rd — Oh, come now, Jonathan — 
you know John is the head of the Clay family 
and you and he must decide this question. 

JONATHAN 

Wouldn't you want to be what you want to be? 

NATHANIEL 

Perhaps I should. 

JONATHAN 

I don't see how anyone can decide what you 
want to be ■- — no matter how old he is. 

NATHANIEL 

Have you ever talked to John? 

JONATHAN 

Oh, yes, sir. 

NATHANIEL 

What did he say? 

JONATHAN 

He said I had to study engineering or go to 
work in the factory next fall for good. 

NATHANIEL 

What do you want to do? 

JONATHAN 

I want to go to a fine prep school and then to 
college and then — 

NATHANIEL 

Then what? 

JONATHAN 

I want to be an actor II 

NATHANIEL 

I see. 

114 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



JONATHAN 

Don't tell anybody. 

NATHANIEL 

I won't. That's pretty far from engineering, 
isn't It? 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir. But everybody can't be alike. You 
and Uncle John aren't anything alike. 

NATHANIEL 

And we're brothers, too. 

JONATHAN 

Do you ever get all mixed up and don't know 
what to do? 

NATHANIEL 

Oh, yes. I think everybody does. 

JONATHAN 

What do you do then? 

NATHANIEL 

I do something very silly. 

JONATHAN 

Do you do silly things, too? 
NATHANIEL 

Yes. I'm afraid I do. 

JONATHAN 

What do you do when you get all mixed up? 

NATHANIEL 

I'll tell you — It might not work with every- 
body, you know — but it works with me. 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir I 

NATHANIEL 

My mother U3ed to sing me a song called — 
" There is a green hill far away." I always 
liked that song because It gave me a feeling of 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

contentment and happiness. I Imagined that I 
could see that hill with Its pleasant green slopes 
and at Its foot lay a little cottage all cool and 
pleasant and open to the winds. There were 
no locks and bolts to keep one out or to keep one 
In. I used to Imagine that I was climbing that 
hill to the top of the world and when I reached 
the summit I could see - — 
JONATHAN {enthralled) 

I know — the whole wide world. 

NATHANIEL 

Its very bigness made me happy In my Imag- 
ination. . . . Then when I grew up and heavy 
troubles came to me I remembered the Green 
Hill Far Away and one day I found such a hill 
and I climbed It — clear to the top — and there 
below me lay the world — the whole wnde 
world — and I told the world something then 
and felt the better for It. . . . Jonathan, there 
is nothing like a hill-top to make a man feel 
worth while. 

JONATHAN 

I know what you mean. . . . But I always want 
to jump when I look down from any place, do 
you? 

NATHANIEL 

I suppose everybody does. 

JONATHAN 

Uncle John thinks every boy ought to be alike. 

NATHANIEL 

Many schools used to think that way. 

JONATHAN 

But boys don't all think the same. TheyVe dlf- 

ii6 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



ferent just like men, only they don't know so 
much. 

NATHANIEL 

Perhaps not. 
JONATHAN 

Uncle John won't let me put on long pants until 
I'm fifteen. 
NATHANIEL 

He let me put them on when I was fifteen, too. 

JONATHAN 

Were you as tall as I am? 

NATHANIEL 

Just about the same height, but my legs were 
like pipe stems and I was very much ashamed. 

JONATHAN 

So am I. 

NATHANIEL 

You'll forget all about it after you're fifteen. 

JONATHAN 

I can talk to you like I used to talk to my 
mother. 

NATHANIEL 

Thank you. We're going to be fine friends, 
aren't we? 
JONATHAN 

You bet. Is it silly for me to like to write 
plays? 
NATHANIEL 

Why do you ask that? 

JONATHAN 

Because Uncle John says it's silly. 

NATHANIEL 

Well, it all depends upon the way you look at it, 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

Jonathan. The world has never been able to 
agree as to what Is and what is not silly. Mr. 
Browning, the poet, might have considered 
hooks and eyes the silliest things in the world; 
but to Mr. de Long, they were, no doubt, the 
most important things in the world. Many 
men agree with Mr. Browning and many ladies 
agree with Mr. de Long. 

JONATHAN 

That's what I think. 

NATHANIEL 

You and I probably have many thoughts in 
common. 

[Susan and Mile. Perrault enter. Mile. Per- 
rault is a Frenchwoman of exquisite grace and 
poise. She speaks English fluently, but with a 
charming accent and an occasional Gallic phrase 
larding her pleasant sentences. Her entrance 
into the room is electric. She has already won 
Susan. 
MLLE. PERRAULT 

Ah, there you are, Mr. Nathaniel Clay. I met 
la belle Susanne in the roadway and she told 
me you were in the lumber room in the carriage 
house and I say to her, " We shall track him to 
his lair." Besides, I want to see what a lum- 
ber room is. 

NATHANIEL 

I was hiding from you. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

Villain! And this is Jonathan. How do you 
do? Susanne tells me you write poetry and she 
writes music and she promise me that you will 
sing for me. 

Ii8 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

JONATHAN 
I can't sing. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

Ah! Susanne tell me you have a theatre and 
you write plays and paint scenery and write poe- 
try and sing songs and she say if I come here 
to the lumber room in the carriage house you 
will play me a tragedy and sing me a song. 

JONATHAN 

Yes, ma'am. 

NATHANIEL 

Having Introduced yourself to everybody, will 
you tell rne, Susan, how Mile. Perrault learned 
so much in such a little time? 

SUSAN 

Well, I was waiting for Jonathan to call me. 

JONATHAN 

Oh, I forgot. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

She was sitting like a little fairy in the grass 
by the roadway, and I stop my car and ask for 
Mr. Nathaniel Clay and she say you are here In 
the lumber room in the carriage house and she 
tell me many things — because we like each 
other very, very much and we walk very, very 
slowly. 
NATHANIEL 

Now! Now that you know all about Miss 
Susan Sample and Mr. Jonathan — {He real- 
izes he doesn't know Jonathan's second name) 
I think I shall Introduce you by your pen name, 
Jonathan — Mr. Alexander Jefferson, Sr. 
{To Mile. Perrault) 

I am going to let them know about you. This, 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

lady and gentleman, is Mile. Marthe Perrault 
of Paris, France. Mile. Perrault, may I pre- 
sent my friend Susan and my nephew Jonathan? 

MLLE. PERRAULT {falling into the mood) 

I am very, very pleased to see you again. Miss 
Sample. It is a great pleasure to have the 
honor of meeting you, Mr. Alexander Jeffer- 
son, Sr. I am looking forward to the premiere 
of your great tragedy, Zenohia, of which Miss 
Sample has been telling me. 

SUSAN {Puts her arms about Mile. Perrault and 
Jonathan is uncertain whether to be happy or 
afraid) 
He wrote lots of others, too. 

JONATHAN 

Forty-one. 

NATHANIEL 

I think I'll tell you two a secret. (Susan pricks 
up her ears) Do you like secrets? 

SUSAN 

Yes, sir. 

NATHANIEL 

And can you keep them? 

SUSAN 

Oh, yes, sir. 

NATHANIEL 

Well, some day Mile. Perrault is going to be 
my wife. 

\^He kisses Mile. Perraulfs hand. 
Mile. Perrault shows her engagement ring. 
SUSAN 

When? 

NATHANIEL 

Very soon. She Is here on some war work and 

1 20 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

when she and her father go back to France I 
shall follow and we shall be married. 

SUSAN 

Ooh — 

NATHANIEL 

Now you mustn't tell. 

SUSAN 

Honest. 

JONATHAN 

No, sir! 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

Now, we have a secret. And you are going to 
sing me a little.song. 

SUSAN 

Come on, Jona'than. Let's do the new one. 

JONATHAN 

Well, ril try. 

\^He is quite miserable with stage-fright. 
Susan sits at the piano and plays a chord. 
Then Jonathan begins to sing with much fear 
in his voice. 
JONATHAN {singing) 
All on a summer's day, 
With flowers by the way, 
A fair young prince and his purple knight 
Found a princess at her play. 
So by the crescent moon 
He asked a royal boon 
And sat him down on a soft green knoll — 
And the night-time came too soon. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

Oh, that is just like a little French peasant 

song! How does it go? 

La — la — la — la — la — la. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

[^Susan begins to play it again. 
Jonathan sings more surely than before. 
Slowly Mile. Perrault falls into the rhythm and 
very simply dances a little peasant dance to 
Jonathan's and Susan's song. The two young- 
sters are in the seventh heaven of delight. 
So — when one is very happy or very sad, he 
makes a song and when he's very, very happy, 
he dances. And when he Is very, very, very 
unhappy he dies. You see, / am very, very 
happy. When do you play Zenobia, Mr. Jef- 
ferson, Sr. ? 

JONATHAN 

ril have it ready tomorrow, maybe tonight. 

NATHANIEL 

We shall have a season ticket. But now, I 
want you to meet my blessed Aunt Letltla. She 
hasn't changed one bit In all these years. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

jTo Aunt Letltla then. Good-bye, Jonathan. 
Tomorrow Is the day of the great premiere. 
JONATHAN {awkwardly) 
Thanks. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

And la belle petite Susanne, au revolt. 

SUSAN 

I'll walk with you part of the way. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

Very well. Marchons, marchons. . . . 
[They go out. 
NATHANIEL {holding back a little) 
Good-bye, Mr. Manager. 
[He goes out calling " Marthe." 
Jonathan is left alone in his joy. As he stands , 

122 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

a strange^ aimless, vacuous whistling is heard 
outside the window as though from one am- 
hling by. Jonathan hears it unconsciously, 
moves to put his plays away, alternately whis- 
tling and singing ^^ All on a summer^ s day!^ 
Presently the whistling of the strange air is 
heard as though coming front downstairs. It 
stops and a voice calls out "Hi I '* 

JONATHAN 

Who is It? 
VOICE 
It's me. 

JONATHAN 

What do you want? 

\^By this time the Voice has become a person in 
the shape of Hank, one of the scum of creation 
who asks nothing of life and gives nothing. He 
was born of woman and he grew into man's 
form, but one looking at him wonders how he 
survived dirt and the mere effort of breathing. 
He is stoutish with no marked coloring unless 
it be a cross between khaki and field-gray. 
Weather and time have conspired to render him 
inconspicuous. When he speaks his voice is 
produced with a careful effort to conserve en- 
ergy. When he walks it seems to be a move- 
ment in answer to prayer rather than a physical 
fact. 

HANK 
Say — 

JONATHAN 

How'd you get in here? 

HANK 

Well, it's this way, you see. The gate was open 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

out there and this looked pretty fine to me so I 
come in. 
JONATHAN 

You'd better go away before my uncle sees you. 

HANK 

Look here, young feller, I ain't goin' a-do no 
harm. 

JONATHAN 

Well, he doesn't allow strangers on the place. 

HANK 

I jus' come in to ask if I could sleep somewhere 
around here if I worked for my sleep and 
grub. 

JONATHAN 

No, he won't let you. 

HANK 

How do you know he won't? 

JONATHAN 

'Cause it's a rule. 

[Hank whistles a snatch of the strange air and 

sits down. 

HANK 

Where's your pa ? 

JONATHAN 

He's dead. 

HANK 

Long? 

JONATHAN 

Ten years ago. 
HANK 

How old are you? 

JONATHAN 

Fourteen. 

124 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



HANK 

Your pa died when you were four. So did 
mine. 
JONATHAN 

Did you ever have an uncle? 

HANK 

How many you got? 

JONATHAN 

I got two living and one dead. 

HANK 

All three of mine's dead. 

[He whistles a snatch of the strange air and 
takes a chew of tobacco, 
Where's your ma? 
JONATHAN {Is ahout to become impatient, but 
an innate tolerance causes him to answer) 
She died when I was twelve. 

HANK 

So did mine. {Whistles) We're alike in lots 
of ways, ain't we? 
JONATHAN 

What did you do when your mother died? 

HANK 

I felt pretty sorry. 

JONATHAN 

Did your brothers and sisters help you any? 

HANK 

Have you any brothers and sisters? 

JONATHAN 

No — 

HANK 

Me neither. {Whistles casually) No one 
took no notice of me. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN 

What'd you do? 
HANK 

I went away. 

JONATHAN 

Why didn't you try to work? 

HANK 

Couldn't find nothing suitable. 'T first I felt 
sort o' worried an' then I kep' walkin' on and 
I seen so much trouble where I went I says to 
myself, '^ Hank, you're lucky," I says. *' You 
ain't got no fam'ly to bother you an' you ain't 
got nothing to worry you an' you don't have to 
get no place In partlc'lar and you don't have to 
stay no place. A man wot's got a wife's all the 
time worrying about her health or her money 
spendin' or her gaddin' or her naggin'. An' a 
man w'ots got a fam'ly's always wondering 
where they'll end. An' a man's wot's got a 
home's all time worrying about keepin' It locked 
up. I bet the poor nut wot owns this place 
can't breathe easy for bein' scared things'll be 
took or burnt up. W'y you — look at you — 
{Whistles) You're wishin' Pd go 'cause 
you're 'frald Pll take somethin'. I won't take 
nothin', young feller, 'cause I don't need 
nothin' now and I won't need nothin' till It's cold 
again — and then Pll git an overcoat maybe. 
It's too much trouble takin' things — 'cause you 
have to carry 'em. {Whistles) You goln' to 
let me sleep here some place? 

JONATHAN 

I can't. My uncle would drive you away. 
Maybe he'd have you arrested. 

126 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

HANK 

I ain't done nothin'. I ain't hurtin' nobody. 

JONATHAN 

Well, he doesn't allow strangers around. 
HANK {Whistles. At the window) 
That's where I went by jus' now. 

JONATHAN 

I heard you whistling. 

HANK 

That's a tune I made up once. {Whistles) 

JONATHAN 

Do you make up tunes ? 

HANK 

That's the only one I ever done. It comes in 
handy and it don't hurt no one. 
[Jonathan unconsciously tries to whistle a 
phrase of the tune. 
HANK 

No, that ain't it. It's this way. 
\_Whistles, 

Jonathan tries it again and fails. 
No. Here. 

Jonathan makes it this time, 
HANK 

That's it. Say, what you got these bars for? 
It's like jail. Are they afraid you'll jump out 
on them rocks? 
JONATHAN 

No, I guess not. There Isn't much danger of 
my wanting to jump out. 
HANK 

You never can tell for sure, young feller. 

JONATHAN 

It's to keep people from climbing in. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

HANK 

There ain't no bars over that one. {Pointing 
to gable window) 
JONATHAN 

That's too high. 

HANK 

It'd be like fallin' off the top of a house, 

wouldn't it? 

[^Whistles. 

Jonathan whistles '' All on a Summer's Day." 

HANK 

What you got there? 

JONATHAN 

That's my theatre. 

HANK 

A show? 

JONATHAN 

Yes. 

HANK 

How does It work? 

JONATHAN 

These are the actors. 

HANK 

What's the string fer? 

JONATHAN 

You put him in a groove and pull him. 

HANK 

Lemme see It. 

JONATHAN 

All right. I'll show you a scene from the play 
Fm going to play for my Uncle Nathaniel to- 
morrow. 

HANK 

Fire away. 

128 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

[Jonathan lights the lamps that are back of the 
screen and pulls the blinds or some cover over 
the barred windows. 

HANK 

I wouldn't have all this junk if you'd give it to 
me. No, sir, when I move I carry my house 
with me and there ain't much o' that now. {In- 
dicates his clothes) 

JONATHAN 

All ready. Now you sit there. 

[Places Hank on the bench. 

He goes behind the screen and taps some hells, 

HANK 

What's that fer? 
JONATHAN 

That's to get ready. 

HANK 

Well, I'm ready. 

[Jonathan opens the curtain and discloses a 
scene from Zenohia. 
That's beautiful. It's just like real. 
[Jonathan pulls a figure across the stage. 
Hello, old man. That's the one I jus' seen. 
Where's the string? 
[Jonathan lifts the string. 
JONATHAN 

Here It Is. 

HANK 

Now where's that feller goln' to? 
JONATHAN {coming out from behind the screen) 

Well, you see, Zenohia — ; 
HANK 

Zenob — God, what a name! 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN 

They used to have names like that. 

HANK 

How d' you do It? 

JONATHAN 

Look, I'll show you a little. 
\^He goes behind the screen and closes the cur- 
tain. 

HANK 

What you doln^ that for? I like to see that 
picture. 

JONATHAN 

I'm going to show you how I do it. 
[Jonathan rings the bells. 
HANK 

All right. I'm ready. Let her go. 
[Jonathan opens the curtain and pulls a charac- 
ter on, then another. 
JONATHAN {in assumed voice) 
'' Hail, noble duke." 
" All Is well, I ween." 

HANK 

Say, are they talkin' to each other? 

JONATHAN 

Yes. 

HANK 

Which Is the noble duke? 
JONATHAN {pulling a string) 

This one. 
HANK 

And the other one's name Is Iween, ain't it? 

JONATHAN 

No, his name Is Rollo. 

130 




w 

< 

< 

< 

o 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

HANK 

All right, fire ahead. I guess you know what 
you're doing. 
JONATHAN (in assumed voice) 
" Hail, noble duke." 
'' All is well, I ween." 
*' Not very well, noble duke." 
** What is wrong? " 

*' Queen Zenobia is very mad, noble duke." 
*' What is she mad about, Rollo? " 
[^Uncle John enters suddenly. 

JOHN 

Jonathan — 
[He sees Hank. 
What does this mean? 

HANK 

I'm seein' a show. 

JOHN 

You get out of here this instant. 

HANK 

I ain't hurtin' nothin', mister, but I'll git out if 
you say so. 

JOHN 

What do you mean by this, Jonathan? 

HANK 

I'll git out. Thank you fer the show, boy. 
[He goes out whistling. 
John crosses to the door. 
JOHN {calling after Hank) 

Come on, get out of here quickly. 

HANK {of) 

I'm out, mister. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JOHN 

Now, Jonathan, what do you mean by bringing 
such people into this place? 

JONATHAN 

I didn't bring him in. He came up while I was 

working. 
JOHN 

Do you call that silly stuff working? 
JONATHAN 

I was getting it ready for Uncle Nathaniel. 

JOHN 

He's been putting that nonsense in your head, 
has he? 

JONATHAN 

He asked me to let him see all my plays. 

JOHN 

I suppose he told you to ask that dirty tramp in 
here. 

JONATHAN 

No, sir. He didn't see the tramp. 
\^Hank is heard whistling. 

John crosses to one of the windows and opens 
it. 
JOHN {calling) 

You get away from there. Move on. 

hank's VOICE 

I guess the roadside's free, mister. 

JOHN 

We'll see about that. 
[Hank whistles. 
JOHN 

Jonathan, I won't have you waste your time on 
this stuff. Fve been pretty lenient with you and 
Pve allowed you to keep your toys because 

132 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

Emily spoiled you; but you're too big for such 
things and I'm going to put my foot down right 
now. I'm not going to have this silly stuff 
around. 

JONATHAN 

Uncle Nathaniel doesn't think It's silly. 

JOHN 

I'll decide what Is and Is not good for you. 

JONATHAN 

The same thing Isn't good for everybody. 

JOHN 

Don't talk back to me, young man. 

JONATHAN 

I've got a right to think. 

JOHN 

Jonathan I 

JONATHAN 

If my mother was living, she wouldn't call 
everything I like to do silly. 

JOHN 

Your mother didn't know what was good for 
you. 

JONATHAN 

My mother was the best woman in the world. 

JOHN 

That will do, Jonathan. Your mother was my 
sister and I am not saying anything against her. 
But I do say that stuff must go. 
[He starts for the door, 
JONATHAN 

If this theatre goes, I go, too. I'm not — 
[John walks over to the, theatre and sweeps the 
whole structure onto the floor. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JOHN 

Now. 

JONATHAN 

You dirty coward, you — 

[John turns upon the boy and strikes him across 
the face. 

In mingled rage and humiliation Jonathan sobs 
wildly once or twice, then controls himself and 
glares violently at his uncle. 
JOHN 

I'll let you think about it. I'll leave you here 
with your toys like a girl-baby. 
[He goes out the door, closing it and turning 
the key in the lock. 
Jonathan runs to the door. 
JONATHAN 

You let me out of here ! You let me out of 
here I 

[Jle pounds the door with his fists. 
Then he turns in despair and humiliation. 
He paces the floor a moment, not knowing what 
to do. Suddenly Hank's whistle is heard. The 
boy listens as though fascinated and goes to the 
window and watches Hank. Jonathan goes to 
his wrecked theatre and, taking it up, piles his 
manuscripts, the pink and the blue, on it. He 
hesitates to include one in the pile, offering once 
or twice to put it in his pocket, but he finally 
places it in grim determination with the others. 
Then he takes it off and stuffs it in his pocket. 
He stuffs the pile in the stove and sets a match 
to it, watches it a moment, then writes on a 
piece of paper, fastens it to the door. Then 
he finds a piece of rope on a packing case, 

134 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



moves the ladder under the gable window^ fas- 
tens the rope to a peg in the wall, climbs the 
ladder, considers a moment, returns to the stove 
with the beloved manuscript, stuffs it in the fire, 
remounts the ladder and lets his weight onto 
the rope. As he disappears from view, the 
rope breaks and a cry and sound of falling are 
heard. 

The flames from the burning theatre and manu- 
scripts flicker against the wall for a silent mo- 
ment. 

The key is heard to turn in the lock and John 
and Nathaniel enter, 
JOHN 

Jonathan! 

NATHANIEL 

He's hiding. 

JOHN 

Jonathan ! 
NATHANIEL [Sees paper on door) 

What's this? 
JOHN 

What does it say? 
NATHANIEL 

''Good-bye! . . . Jonathan." 
JOHN {Looks suspiciously at Nathaniel) 

Did you tell the silly boy about your running 
away? 

NATHANIEL 

I told Jonathan nothing about myself. You 
are the head of the Clay family and out of cus- 
tom I respected your position; but, by God, 
John, you're a failure with this boy. 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JOHN 

He — 

\_Hank enters carrying Jonathan in his arms. 
Jonathan is limp and pitiful. His clothes are 
torn. He is moaning pitifully. 
HANK 

He fell on the rocks out there. 

NATHANIEL 

Put him over here. 

[^Hank places Jonathan on the bench near the 
piano. Nathaniel places the costume, which 
Susan left there, under his head for a pillow. 

JOHN 

What was he doing? 

HANK 

He was — 

NATHANIEL 

This is no time for questions, John. Call a 

doctor. 

{^Jonathan moans and rolls his head, looking 

vacantly at Hank now and then. 
JONATHAN {moaning) 

Good-bye. . . . Jonathan. 

JOHN 

We'd better take him in the house. 
JONATHAN 

My mother was the best woman — 

NATHANIEL 

He'd better stay here until the doctor comes. 
[John exits. 
JONATHAN, 

All on a summer's day — 

\_All the time Nathaniel has been passing his 

hands over Jonathan. 

136 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

HANK 

He's out of his head, ain't he? 

NATHANIEL 

Perhaps, but sometimes one's heart speaks in 
a delirium. 

HANK 

He acts like his back's broke. 

NATHANIEL 

My God — his back ! 
\^T ouches the boy's back. 
Jonathan winces with pain. 

JONATHAN 

My back's broken, Hank. 

HANK 

Listen, he's saying my name. We wuz pals, 
sure nuff. 

JONATHAN 

My back's broken. Hank. 



Curtain, 



137 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



ACT II 

Six years have elapsed since Act I as years elapse In a boy's 
imaginings. 

Throughout this act the characters are disclosed without reason 
as in a dream ; and the movement of the act represents four 
terrors of a delirium — anxious effort to make oneself known, a 
feeling of fetters, climbing and a sudden fall. 

Jonathan Builds a Fear 

{^Before the curtain rises the voices of Jona- 
than, Hank, Nathaniel and John are heard, 
muffled and far away, 
HANK 

He fell on the rocks out there. 

NATHANIEL 

Put him over here. 

JOHN 

What was he doing? 

HANK 

He was — 

NATHANIEL 

This Is no time for questions, John. Call a 
doctor. 

JONATHAN 

Good-bye. . . . Jonathan. 

JOHN 

We'd better take him In the house. 

JONATHAN 

My mother was the best woman — 
NATHANIEL 

He'd better stay here until the doctor comes. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN 

All on a summer's day — 
HANK 

He's out of his head, ain't he? 

NATHANIEL 

Perhaps, but sometimes one's heart speaks in a 
delirium. 

HANK 

He acts like his back's broke. 

NATHANIEL 

My God — his back ! 

JONATHAN 

My back's broken, Hank. 

HANK 

Listen, he's saying my name. We wuz pals, 
sure nuff. 

JONATHAN 

My back's broken, Hank. 
\^The curtain has risen unnoticed. 
A faint light that grows steadily brighter as 
light does when one comes out of a swoon dis- 
closes Jonathan and Hank seated on a log at 
the left of the stage, where the bench had been. 
Jonathan seems much older, and he is crooked 
and dirty and unkempt, and Hank is somewhat 
brutalised, less negative. 

JONATHAN 

My back's broken, Hank. 
[JJank looks at him. 
Tired? 

HANK 

Sure. ... 

140 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

JONATHAN 

I think Uncle Nathaniel would help me if he 

saw me. 
HANK 

He couldn't do nothin' for you. You can't 

straighten a crooked back. . . . 
JONATHAN 

Hank, I'm tired of this and I'm going back. 

HANK 

Going back where? 

JONATHAN 

I'm going back home. 

HANK 

Your Uncle John won't let you In. 

JONATHAN 

Uncle Nathaniel will take me In. 

HANK 

He ain't there no more and besides he won't 
know you. 

JONATHAN 

Honest — don't you think he would? 

HANK 

Sure, he wouldn't. 

JONATHAN 

I wish I hadn't run away. 

HANK 

If you don't quit wishing V\l run away from 
you. 

JONATHAN 

You wouldn't leave me, would you. Hank? 

HANK 

Sure, I'd leave you. . . . What do you think I 
am — a wishing stone? ... I want peace, I 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

do. . . . An' your wishlng's disturbing my 
peace. . . . Every day fer six years you squeal 
about what you done. . . . Your Uncle John 
swatted you and you burned your theatre things 
and jumped out o' the window and broke your 
back and I saved you. . . . 

JONATHAN 

I can't do anything with a broken back! 

HANK 

What do you want to do anything for? 

JONATHAN 

Sometimes Fd like to write a little. 

HANK 

Go ahead. . . , I'll wait for you. 

JONATHAN 

And I'd like to give a show. You know, Hank, 
I used to want to be an actor. . . . 

HANK 

Sure, all kids want to be actors or go in a circus 
or do something where a lot o' people are 
lookln' on. 
JONATHAN 

But I can't be an actor now, because nobody'd 
want to look at me. 
HANK 

You act like that hump's ruined your life, when 
all you got to do's crouch over a little more 
and look sad and you can get anything 
you want. Why, It's money In your pocket, 
that's what that hump is; it's money in your 
pocket. 

[He closes the conversation by whistling. 
Say, go on over to that house and get us some- 
thing to eat. 

142 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

[Jonathan prepares for the quest and Hank 
rolls over to go to sleep. 

As Jonathan crosses, lights disclose a hill with 
pleasant green slopes. At its foot stands a 
little cottage, all cool and pleasant with great 
glass doors. There are no locks and bolts to 
keep one out or to keep one in. A high plas- 
ter and brick wall flanks the cottage. 
As Jonathan nears the cottage he meets Uncle 
John, whose austerity is more apparent than 
ever. 

Jonathan cowers a moment, then attempts to 
smile. 

JONATHAN 

Hank said you'd turn me away If I came back. 

JOHN 

Were you talking to me, boy? 

JONATHAN 

I'm so sorry I ran away, Uncle John. 

JOHN 

Uncle John? 

JONATHAN 

Don't you know me. Sir? 

JOHN 

Indeed I do not. 

JONATHAN 

I'm Jonathan — 
JOHN 

Jonathan I My nephew Jonathan? — Hal 
Ha! 

JONATHAN 

Don't you remember I didn't want to study en- 
gineering — I didn't want to go to Somerset 
School? 

143 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JOHN 

Where Is Jonathan? 

JONATHAN 

I'm Jonathan, sir. You remember I jumped 
out of the window and I tried to run away. 

JOHN 

You seem to know a lot about It. Where is 
Jonathan? 

JONATHAN 

I tell you I am Jonathan. . . . Don't you re- 
member you struck me — You struck me across 
the face — that's what made me run away. 

JOHN 

I should have whipped him and put him to bed. 

JONATHAN 

I would have run away just the same, Uncle 
John. 

JOHN 

Don't call me Uncle John I 

JONATHAN 

But you are my Uncle John. 

JOHN 

I ask you where is Jonathan. 

JONATHAN 

Would you like to see him? 

JOHN 

I should like to know what has become of him. 

JONATHAN 

Would you let him come back home? 

JOHN 

No. When he ran away, I cast him out for- 
ever. 

JONATHAN 

Couldn't you forgive him if he was very, very 

144 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

sorry for what he had done? . . . Couldn't 
you forgive me, sir? ... I am Jonathan. 
Honest I am Jonathan. 

JOHN 

Don't try to deceive me. Jonathan was Im- 
pudent as you are; but he was a Clay: he was 
straight and fine. 

JONATHAN 

But I broke my back. 

JOHN 

Tell me where Jonathan Is, you Imposter. 

[^He takes Jonathan by the arm and twists it 

brutally. 

Tell me. . . . Tell me. 

JONATHAN 

I don't know. . . . Let me go. . . . I'm not 
Jonathan. 

JOHN 

Tell me. . . . 
JONATHAN {in desperation) 
He's dead. 

JOHN 

What! 

JONATHAN 

He's dead. He died somewhere. 

JOHN 

And so you tried to palm yourself off as Jona- 
than. 

JONATHAN 

I'm sorry. 

JOHN 

Don't you know you can't make your way with 
lies? 

145 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir. 

JOHN 

You ought to be whipped, but I suppose you 
don't know any better. I should have you ar- 
rested for vagrancy. 
[Jonathan winces. 

But I won't. I pity you, you dirty little beggar. 
[He starts to walk. 

You ought to wash your hands and face at 
least. 

JONATHAN 

Please, sir - — one minute. . . . How are Mary 
and John third? 

JOHN 

Mary is ten — a big girl — and John third is 
eight — a strapping boy who will be a great 
help to me. 

JONATHAN 

And — how is Aunt Letitia ? 

JOHN 

My aunt died of a broken heart. 

JONATHAN 

A broken heart? 

JOHN 

Because Jonathan ran away. 

[Jonathan buries his face in his arms. 

There I Don't cry for someone you've never 

seen. . . . Here, here, take this — 

[He presses a coin into J onathan^ s hand and 

goes out. 

Jonathan looks at the coin, then after John, and 

seems to close his heart. He crosses to the 

sleeping Hank. 

146 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

JONATHAN 

Here, Hank. 
HANK {taking the coin) 
What'd he say? 

JONATHAN 

He didn't know me. 

HANK 

I guess you're not going back home now ! 

JONATHAN 

No, I haven't any home. 
HANK 

Then quit your snifflin' an' go on over to that 
house. 

JONATHAN 

All right, Hank. 

[Hank curls up and goes to sleep again. 
Jonathan crosses to the cottage and finally sum- 
mons the courage to knock on the door. As 
he does so the lights within grow bright and 
disclose a lovely little room with a beautiful 
piano in the centre. In a moment a young 
woman appears and opens the doors. It is 
Susan Sample. She is charmingly older; but 
she is dressed almost as she was in the old lum- 
ber room. 
JONATHAN 

Please, Miss — why — 

SUSAN 

What do you want? 

JONATHAN 

I — don't you know me? 

SUSAN 

No, I don't know you, little boy. What do you 
want? 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN 

I ~ don't you really know me? 

SUSAN 

I've never seen you before. 

JONATHAN 

I know you. . . . YouVe Susan Sample. 

SUSAN 

Who told you? 

JONATHAN 

Pm — {He becomes conscious of his hack) 
Why Jonathan told me. 

SUSAN 

Have you seen Jonathan? 

JONATHAN 

Yes. 

SUSAN 

Where Is he? 

JONATHAN 

I don't know. 

SUSAN 

He ran away. Why doesn't he come home? 

JONATHAN 

Because — oh, I don't know. 

SUSAN 

Who are you? 

JONATHAN 

Pm a vagrant. 

SUSAN 

Are you hungry? 
JONATHAN {looking toward Hank) 

No. Pm not. . . . Pm not begging. . . . 

But will you do something for me? 

SUSAN 

Yes, if I can. , 

148 




:^ 



< 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

JONATHAN 

Will you play for me? 

SUSAN 

Oh, yes. . . . What shall I play? 

JONATHAN 
Anything. 

\_Jonathan notices his dirty hands. 
Excuse me a moment. 

[He goes to a bird-bath and washes his hands, 
wipes them and returns to the piano. 
Susan plays a bit of a nocturne with ease and 
grace. 

JONATHAN 

Do you remember this? 

[He hums ^^ All on a Summer Day!^ 

SUSAN 

Oh, yes. 

[She plays the tune in a sophisticated musical 
way J but Jonathan is disappointed. 
SUSAN 

You don't like it? 

JONATHAN 

That isn't exactly the way it goes. 

SUSAN 

Oh, yes, it is. 

[She plays it once more and sings it. 

JONATHAN 

No — no — no. It ought to go this way. 
[He sings it as he had sung it years before. 

SUSAN 

You sing that just as Jonathan used to sing 
it. 

JONATHAN 

I like i-t that way. 

149 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

SUSAN 

Did Jonathan teach It to you? . 

JONATHAN 

Yes. ... A long time ago. 

SUSAN 

Did he tell you — 

JONATHAN 

About the lovely lady who danced to the tune? 
Oh, she was wonderful ! 

SUSAN 

Jona»than ran away — and he never wrote to me 
or thought of me. 

JONATHAN 

He thought of you and he talked of you and he 
sang of you. 

SUSAN 

No ... I can't believe that. 

JONATHAN 

Jonathan loves you very much. 

SUSAN 

If a man loves a woman very much he can't go 
away from her for years and years. 

JONATHAN 

Suppose Jonathan had pride and was ashamed 
to let you know that he had failed. 

SUSAN 

Jonathan wouldn't fail. I know Jonathan. 

JONATHAN 

He — Susan Sample! 

[Susan plays softly. She is lovely in the sun- 
light which is lengthening across the lawn. 
[Jonathan watches her quietly. The love of 
the boy fans into flame and he reaches out to 

150 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

her J then in the consciousness of his deformity 
he turns ctway. 

SUSAN 

Will you tell me where Jonathan was when you 
last saw him? 

JONATHAN 

I don't know — The last time I saw Jonathan 
— he was tall and straight — and making his 
way. 

SUSAN 

Oh, well. 

[Albert Peet enters. He is a tittle man of 

immaculate a,ppearance and great preciseness. 

ALBERT 

Ah, Susan. 

SUSAN 

Albert, you are late. 

ALBERT 

W^ho Is this? 

SUSAN 

This Is a friend of Jonathan's. 

ALBERT 

Jonathan who? 

SUSAN 

Don't you remember Jonathan who had the toy 
theatre? He ran away from home. 

ALBERT 

Oh . . . and this Is his friend? How do you 
do?. 

SUSAN 

Do you remember this? I used to play It for 

[She begins '' All on a Summer^ s Day** 
Jonathan and I made It up. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

ALBERT {laughing) 

Oh, yes. 
SUSAN {to Jonathan) 

Come on and sing It. 

[Jonathan is not sure of the status of Albert 

Peet. 

[Susan plays and she and Jonathan sing with 

great feeling, 
ALBERT {looking at his watch. 

Well, all this Is very pleasant Indeed, but we'll 

have to go, Susan dear. 

[At the ^' Susan, dear '^ Jonathan turns quickly 

and sees the two holding hands. Susan holds 

up her left hand and shows an engagement ring 

on it. Jonathan is utterly crushed. 
JONATHAN 

I think rd better say good-bye. 

[He takes up his cap. 
SUSAN 

Good-bye. If you see Jonathan, tell him 
I'm going to marry Albert Peet. He'll 
know. 

ALBERT 

Good-bye. 

[Albert and Susan walk of happily in the sun- 
shine. 

Jonathan looks after them. 
Mile. Perrault enters followed by Mary and 
John jrd. Mile. Perraulfs dress is almost like 
the one she had worn when she first met Jona- 
than in the lumber-room, except that the colors 
are reversed and more brilliant. Mary is a 
lovely little yellow-haired child of ten and John 
^rd is a stoical matter-of-fact boy of eight. 

152 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



The two children are evidently very fond of 
Mile, Perrault, as fond as Jonathan and Susan 
had seemed. If the children seem thoughtless 
and cruel, it is because they are children and life 
has not yet laid a hard hand upon them. The 
sun rays are very low against the wall now so 
that anyone walking near it will cast a very 
heavy shadow. 
MARY 

John, look — he's a hunchback. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

'Sh! Children. 

[^The children whisper. 

Jonathan turns and seeing Mile. Perrault 

smiles. 

How do you do, little man. 

JONATHAN 

I am well, I thank you. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

What are you doing here? 

JONATHAN 

I am with Hank. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

Hank? 

JONATHAN 

Yes, Hank's my pal. There he is — asleep. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

Oh, what a dreadful person. . . . Children, 
don't go near him. 
JONATHAN 

He's not so bad. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

But he Is a vagrant — a tramp. Why does he 



do nothing: 



? 



153 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN 

He's happier that way. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

Are you his son? 

JONATHAN 

Oh, no. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

Where is your mother? 

JONATHAN 

My mother's dead. 
MLLE. PERRAULT 

Where did she live? 
JONATHAN (Looks for a trace of recognition) 
I'd better not tell you. 

MARY 

Oh, please tell us. 

JONATHAN 

I'd better not. 

MARY 

You ask him, John. 

JOHN HI 

Uh-uh! 

MARY 

Why not? 

JOHN HI 

I don't want to know. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

Why don't you want to tell us? We won't tell 
anybody. 
JONATHAN 

Nabody'll believe me. 

MARY 

Why? 

154 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



JONATHAN 

You see, I ran away from home — 
JOHN m 

When you run away from home, you're no 
good. 

MARY 

Now, John, that isn't always so. 

JOHN HI 

It is. 

MARY 

It isn't. Goldilocks and the Babes in the 
Wood and the Marquis of Carabas were all 
good, and they ran away from home. 

JOHN HI 

But they had bad homes. 

MARY 

Was your home bad? 

JONATHAN 

I thought it was. 

JOHN HI 

You thought it was. But was it? 

JONATHAN 

No. 

JOHN HI 

Then you're no good. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

Oh, John. 

JOHN HI 

No, he isn't. Grandfather said nobody who 
ran away from home was any good ! 

MARY 

Why did you run away from home? 

JONATHAN 

I mustn't tell. 

155 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

MARY 

Oh, you won't tell anything ! 
JOHN III {pointing to Hank) 

What did you say he was, Ma'mselle? 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

He is a vagrant — 

MARY AND JOHN HI 

What's a vagrant? 

MARY 

Ooh — 

[Puts up her hand to make a wish. 
JOHN m 

Aw, I'm not going to make a wish. Grand- 
father'll get it for me anyway if I want it. 

MARY 

Now, John Clay III — 
[Jonathan looks up quickly. 
You always spoil things. 

JONATHAN 

Is that Mary Clay and John Clay? 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

Yes. 

JONATHAN 

They don't remember Jonathan, do they? 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

You mean Jonathan who ran away? 

JONATHAN 

Yes, ma'am. 

MARY 

Who's Jonathan? 

JOHN HI 

He's David's friend. I know that. And he 
was very good. 

156 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



MLLE. PERRAULT 

What do you know about Jonathan? 

JONATHAN 

I knew him once — 
MLLE. PERRAULT 

He was a splendid little man ! He could make 
such lovely songs. 

JONATHAN 

Do you remember the one he and Susan Sample 
made up? 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

Let's see — how did it go? 
[Hums a little — tries several folk tunes. The 
children edge up to Jonathan during this and 
manage to touch his back several times, each 
keeping count. Jonathan smiles at them, 
thinking it's attention. 
JONATHAN 

No, it went this way. 

{He sings a little of the song and Mile. Per- 
rault joins him. As he stops singing she 
switches the time to waltz time and begins to 
sway to it. The music is taken up as by a 
dream-orchestra and Mile. Perrault dances a 
very lovely little waltz. 
JOHN HI 

Oh, look at your shadow I 

[Mile. Perrault turns and sees her shadow on 

the wall. 

I can make a bigger one than that. 

MARY 

Oh, come on, ma'mselle, let's all make shadows. 
[The three of them stand in front of the 
wall, 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JOHN III 

Boy, you come, too. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 
Come, boy. 

[Jonathan joins them standing so that his de- 
formity doesn't show in the shadow. 
Now, let's dance — Give me your hand — -so. 
[The four dance, while Mile. Perrault hums 
'^ All on a Summer's Day." They are having a 
very good time when Susan and Albert enter. 
Jonathan is a little conscious of Susan and Al- 
bert, and he jnanages to fnake several awkward 
moves. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

Now, let's make everybody's shadow dance by 
itself. 

MARY 

Oh, come on. 

JOHN HI 

You first, Mile. 

MARY 

It's your turn. Mile. 

[Mile. Perrault stands before the wall and 
makes a very lovely shadow. 
John, you do It now. 
JOHN HI 

I won't. Pm going to be next to last . . 

He's going to be last. 

[Mary makes a pretty '' statue.'* 

MARY 

Now, John — 

[John III, holding a staf, stands bow-legged 

and pigeon-toed. 

All of them laugh. 

158 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

MLLE. PERRAULT {to John III) 
You little Jackanapes! You! 

JOHN III (to Jonathan) 
You can't do that. 

[Jonathan, still conscious of Susan, but more in 
the spirit of the game nevertheless, laughs al- 
most gleefully. 

JONATHAN 

You just wait. 

[He stands in front of the wall and does some 
comical movements with his feet and legs, then 
he turns in such a way that for the first time 
the shadow of his hump is thrown into a pitiful 
distortion on the wall. He doesn't see it at 
first, for he is lost in the game with the chil- 
dren. 

JOHN HI (yelling suddenly) 
Oh, look! 

[The children laugh immoderately, and Jona- 
than turns his head quickly, hut in so doing 
alters the shadow. He smiles joyfully and then 
once more falls into the distorted picture. 

MARY 

Ooh — 
JOHN m 

That's funnier than mine. 

[Jonathan turns his head this time and sees the 

full horror of the thing. 

Mile. Perrault and Susan have realized too late 

to protect Jonathan. 
MLLE. PERRAULT 

John! Mary! Tell the little boy good-bye. 

We must go. 

[Jonathan looks toward Susan and Albert. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

There is pity in Susan* s eyes and a smile in Al- 
berths. 

SUSAN 

Albert, come — let's go ! 

\_They pass into the house, 
JOHN III (Almost as Susan speaks. 

Wasn't he funniest of all I 
MLLE. PERRAULT 

Now, run along, children. Run along. 

MARY 

Look, I can make a hump-back. 

JOHN HI 

So can L 

MARY 

Not a good one! 

JOHN HI 

You can't touch mine. 

[He smacks Mary on the back and runs of, 
Mary following him, 
MLLE. PERRAULT 

Little man, I'm very sorry. You mustn't let 
them hurt you. They are only children. 

JONATHAN 

Yes, ma'am. . . . Thank you. 

MLLE. PERRAULT 

May I do something for you? 

JONATHAN 

No, ma'am ... if you please ... I must go 

to Hank. 
MLLE. PERRAULT 

Here, take this — •. 

[She offers a coin, 
JONATHAN 

Oh, no, ma'am. . . . 

1 60 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

\_He puts his hand behind him. 
MLLE. PERRAULT 

I am sorry. . . . Very, very sorry. 

JONATHAN 

Yes, ma'am. 

[Mile. Perrault goes out silently^ and in a 
moment she is heard to call *' Marie " — 
" John,'' and a distant answer is heard. 
Susan comes to the door and sees Jonathan. 
She crosses to him. He looks at her almost 
with madness in his eyes. 

SUSAN 

They didn't mean to hurt you. 
[She lays her hand on his arm. 
JONATHAN 

Yes, I know. 

[There is a moment of the tenderest, most un- 
derstanding silence. He turns away. 
Susan starts to reach in her bag, she even takes 
her purse out; but she replaces it unopened, and 
instead of bestowing alms, she takes a flower 
from her hair and presses it in Jonathan's 
hands. 

He looks at her with years of pent-up gratitude 
loosed from his heart. 

Silently, she turns away and goes into the house. 
Jonathan, left alone, turns so that his hump 
once more shows in the most distorted shadow. 
He lifts the flower and for a single moment, its 
shadow rises above the shadow of the hump, a 
tiny cross on his little Calvary. Then he lays 
the flower against his cheek and sits upon the 
log near Hank. 
Hank awakens. 

i6i 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

HANK (looking up stupidly) 

What you got? 
JONATHAN (hiding the flower)' 

Nothing. 

HANK 

Come across, Humpy. 

JONATHAN 

Don't you call me that! 

HANK 

So — ho! What you yelling at me for? 
[He sits up. 

JONATHAN 

Nothing. ... I didn't mean to yell. 

HANK 

What you got there? 

JONATHAN 

I tell you I haven't got anything, Hank. 

HANK 

Come on. Come across. 

JONATHAN 

It's not for you. 

HANK 

Come on. 
JONATHAN (Rises and moves away) 

No. 

HANK 

Gimme it here. . . . 

[He grabs Jonathan and tears the flower from 
his hand. 
JONATHAN 

Stop that! 

HANK 

Great God ! ( Throwing the crushed petals on 
the ground) Say, what's the matter with you? 

162 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

JONATHAN 

I tell you, I'm going back. . . . Vm going back 
to my home. . . . I'm going to find my Uncle 
Nathaniel. I know he'll take me in. He 
won't blame me because I'm a cripple. ... I 
know. ... I know. . . . Didn't he say, *' Poor 
Jonathan "? . . . 

[At this moment Nathaniel enters, and the two 
stand face to face as they had stood in the lum- 
ber-room at their first meeting. 
Hank slinks away. 

Nathaniel is untouched by the years. Jona- 
than looks at him hopefully, but there is no 
glint of recognition in Nathaniel's eye, 
JONATHAN (timidly) 
Uncle Nathariiel. 

NATHANIEL 

What did you say, my boy? 
JONATHAN (Less and less audible, as his dis- 
appointment increases) 
Uncle Nathaniel. 

NATHANIEL 

I can't hear you. 

JONATHAN 

You — - are — my — Uncle Nathaniel. 

NATHANIEL 

Come, come, my boy. I can't hear you. 

JONATHAN 

Aren't you — Mr. — Nathaniel — Clay? 
NATHANIEL (kindly, but as to a stranger) 

Yes, I am Mr. Nathaniel Clay. 

[Jonathan smiles one of his old half smiles, 
JONATHAN 

My name's — Jonathan. 

163 . 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

NATHANIEL 

Jonathan! ... I had a nephew whose name 
was Jonathan. 

JONATHAN 

Don't you know me? 

NATHANIEL 

You must forgive me, little man — but I do 
not remember you. Boys grow so quickly. 
JONATHAN 

Don't you remember Zenohiaf 

NATHANIEL 

Zenohiaf W,ho was she? 

JONATHAN 

Don't you remember the little theatre? 

NATHANIEL 

Oh, yes, my nephew Jonathan had a little 
toy theatre, and he wrote a play called Zenobia. 
. . . He burnt them. 

JONATHAN 

Was It wrong to burn them? 

NATHANIEL 

I don't know. You see Jonathan ran away, 
and I have never seen him since. 

JONATHAN 

Do you blame him? 

NATHANIEL 

Well, I can't say. When a fine boy like Jona- 
than runs away from home, he may have what 
he considers a good reason. 

JONATHAN 

Don't you know why he ran away? 

NATHANIEL 

I think I know. 

164 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



JONATHAN 

Would you tell me why? 

NATHANIEL 

That wouldn't do any good, my boy. ... If 
you had an uncle who liked you very much, 
would you run away? 

JONATHAN 

No, sir — not If I had another chance. . . . 

NATHANIEL 

What do you mean? 

JONATHAN 

Don't you really know me? 

NATHANIEL 

I'm sorry — no ! 
JONATHAN {pointing to Hank) 
Do you know him ? 

NATHANIEL 

That tramp? 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir. . . . That's Hank. 

NATHANIEL 

Hank? 

JONATHAN 

Yes, the one I ran away with. 

NATHANIEL 

Did you run away, too? 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir; I jumped out the window, and I fell 
and broke my back. Hank said — 

NATHANIEL 

What a dirty man I 

JONATHAN 

He's my pal. 

165 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

NATHANIEL 

You're evidently a fine young man inside. 

JONATHAN 

Oh, I'm sorry, sir, that I ran away. 

NATHANIEL 

You can't undo 'the past, my boy, but you can 
make the future. 

JONATHAN 

I can't straighten my back. 

NATHANIEL 

Perhaps not, but you can straighten your life. 

JONATHAN 

I'm only a beggar, sir. 

NATHANIEL 

There Is something everybody can do. 

JONATHAN 

There Isn't any place for me. . . . 

NATHANIEL 

My boy, there is a place for everybody who 
wants a place. 

JONATHAN 

Do you remember what your nephew wanted 
to do ? 

NATHANIEL 

Yes, he wanted to write plays and run a theatre 
and be an actor. 

JONATHAN 

I couldn't ever be an actor, could I ? 

NATHANIEL 

No, my boy. 

JONATHAN 

Supposing you had your heart set on something 
and couldn't do It, what would you do? 

1 66 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

NATHANIEL 

I'd not give up. . . . I'd try something else. 

JONATHAN 

Supposing I were your nephew, what would you 
do? 

NATHANIEL 

I'd find out what you wanted to be. 

JONATHAN 

Don't I look like Jonathan? 

NATHANIEL 

Jonathan must be very tall now. 

JONATHAN 

If Jonathan weren't tall? 

NATHANIEL 

But he is tall and splendid. I know Jonathan I 
And he's doing what he set out to do. 

JONATHAN 

I hope you'll find him, sir, and I hope he'll 
make you proud. 
NATHANIEL (very earnestly) 
My boy, how old are you ? 

JONATHAN 

I'm twenty. 

NATHANIEL 

Twenty. . . . Will you try to pull yourself out 
of the rut? 

JONATHAN 

What do you mean, sir? 

NATHANIEL 

Look at that man. What is he to you? 

JONATHAN 

He's my pal. 

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MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

NATHANIEL 

You mustn't waste your life on such emptiness 
as his. 

JONATHAN 

Tm going to try, sir. . . . And If I make good, 
will you believe I'm Jonathan? 

NATHANIEL 

ril believe you are you. . . . Here. . . . 
\_He ofers Jonathan a coin, 
JONATHAN 

Oh, no, sir. ... I can't — from you — 

NATHANIEL 

Well, you are a strange beggar — 

JONATHAN 

I'm not a beggar at heart. ... I don't want to 
be what I am. But I don't know which way to 
turn. I'm all mixed up. 
NATHANIEL 

All mixed up ? 

[Nathaniel turns and looks toward the hill. 
Boy, there Is a green hill far away. Climb to 
the top of It, look about and you will see — 

JONATHAN 

I know : the whole wide world I 

NATHANIEL 

Exactly. 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir. 

NATHANIEL 

Go to the hilltop alone — and cry out to your 
heart's content. — There's nothing like a hilltop 
to make a man feel worth while ! 

JONATHAN 

I knew that, sir ; but I forgot It. I'm going — 

i68 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

NATHANIEL 

Good-bye, boy; God bless you. 

[The two clasp hands and Nathaniel goes, 

JONATHAN 

He believes in me. . . . 

\_He watches Nathaniel with wide eyes, then 

calls to Hank. 

Hank! Hank! 

HANK 

What you want? 

JONATHAN 

He didn't know me ! 

HANK 

Who didn't know you? 
[Hank lies down, 

JONATHAN 

Uncle Nathaniel. . . . He just passed by. . . . 
But, Hank, he believed in me I He believed 
I'd make good. 

HANK 

Say, what's the matter with you today? 

JONATHAN 

I'm goin' to leave you, Hank. 

HANK 

Huh? 

JONATHAN 

Old pal, I'm going to leave you forever. 
You've stuck by me — 

HANK 

Sure, I've stuck by you. 
[Makes himself comfortable. 
Ain't you saved me a heap o' trouble? 

169 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN 

But Vm going now, Hank. Good-bye. I'm 
going to the green hill far away. 
[He starts away leaving Hank alone and asleep. 
The lights fade out. 

Soft music is heard through the darkness and 
slowly the outline of the green hill appears 
close at hand, Jonathan outlined against the 
sky appears at the edge of the hill, climbing 
with difficulty. 
NATHANIEL ( The voice is heard with the music) 
Nine ninety-nine — one thousand. YouVe 
nearly there, Boy. 

JONATHAN 

Nine hundred and ninety-nine — one thousand 
— I'm almost there. 
NATHANIEL {far away) 

A thousand and one — a thousand and two — 

JONATHAN 

A thousand and one, a thousand and two ■ — I 
am here ! 

NATHANIEL {far away) 
The world is here. 

JONATHAN {as though addressing the world) 
Listen. ... I ran away. I ran away. I was 
fourteen. I saw visions of great things. I 
heard voices of the past and the future. I 
wanted to tell what I saw and heard. . . . Oh, 
you who made sport of my dreams, I am here at 
the top of the world ! Uncle John, I have 
heard things you will never hear, and I have 
seen things you will never see. 

JOHN {far away) 

But your back's broken. 

170 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

JONATHAN 

Oh, Susan — Susan Sample — see — see. I 
told you I wasn't a beggar. See — see — 
Jonathan stands at the top of the world I 

SUSAN {faintly) 

But your back's broken. 

JONATHAN 

Oh, people of all the world, I am a boy who 
asks you to hear me and to understand. I only 
wanted to work out my way. ... I planned 
my way because I couldn't help It — I wanted to 
build my own world — alone. ... I climbed 
clear to the top — Jonathan stands before 
you — 

VOICES 

Jonathan's dead. 

JONATHAN 

Dead? . . . Oh, see the wreck of everything. 
. . , Jonathan is dead I 
[He falls, 

NATHANIEL 

Boy — boy — Jonathan I — I believe you are 
you. 

JONATHAN 

Uncle Nathaniel! 
[He rises slowly. 

Oh, people of all the world, my Uncle Nathan- 
iel understands. — I speak for all the boys of all 
times. Have patience — patience and under- 
standing. Don't you remember when you were 
young? We come to you with hopes and 
dreams and wishes and fears, — and these arc 
the things that life is made of — 

171 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

NATHANIEL 

I am here, Jonathan. 

JONATHAN 

I'm coming to you. I'm coming back to you 
with all my hopes and dreams. 

NATHANIEL 

We're waiting for you, Jonathan. 

JONATHAN 

I've made my wish that's coming true 1 1 
[^He jumps into space. 



Curtain. 



172 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



ACT III 

Jonathan Makes a Wish 

[The scene is a summer house on the estate of 
John Clay. It is charmingly furnished with 
wicker chairs and a table. The building is 
hexagon shape and we look into half the hexa- 
gon. The doors at the left open on to the path 
that leads from the house. The doors at the 
hack open onto a garden path that leads to a 
gate. Eight weeks have elapsed since the first 
act. 

The curtain rises disclosing an empty stage. 
It is early evening and sunset is leaving only the 
faintest tinge above the hills. After a moment 
Jonathan enters. He is unchanged except that 
he still carries in his eyes some of the horror 
of his delirium. He opens the hack windows 
and then sits above the table and begins to look 
at an illustrated paper. 

Nathaniel enters carrying a manuscript. He 
seems a bit less carefree than at his home- 
coming f and he also seems closer to Jonathan. 

NATHANIEL 

Well, my boy — 

JONATHAN 

Uncle Jonathan, did you know that Caproni was 
an artist? 
NATHANIEL 

You mean the Caproni who makes the wonder- 
ful aeroplanes? 

173 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir. 

NATHANIEL 

No, I didn't know It; but Fm not surprised. 

JONATHAN 

Aren't these pictures fine ? 

NATHANIEL 

Excellent. 

JONATHAN 

He made them. . . . They're like great 
dragon-flies, aren't they? 

NATHANIEL 

A whole swarm of them. 

JONATHAN 

It must feel funny to fly through air. 

NATHANIEL 

Would you like to try it some time? 

JONATHAN 

Yes . . . but I'd have to get used to it. . . . It 
must be like diving. 

NATHANIEL 

When you were very ill you seemed to imagine 
you were falling. 

JONATHAN 

Did I talk much when I was unconscious? 

NATHANIEL 

You talked almost continuously. 

JONATHAN 

Did I? . . . You said you'd tell me what I 
said — when I was strong enough. . , . I'm 
pretty strong now. 
NATHANIEL 

Do you know what I did? 

174 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



JONATHAN 

I don't know. 
NATHANIEL (showing manuscript) 

Can you guess? 
JONATHAN (Looks at manuscript) 

" Jonathan Builds a Fear." What does that 

mean? 
NATHANIEL 

When you were delirious I listened to what you 
said and then I made a story out of It. 

JONATHAN 

You mean this Is all about me? 

NATHANIEL 

It's about a little hunchback who thought he was 
you. 

JONATHAN 

I know. I was always trying to make some- 
body know me, and finally I thought I jumped 
from the top of a hill and I seemed to be fall- 
ing for years and years. . . . 

NATHANIEL 

Those were terrible days, my boy, and do 
you know, we were afraid you wouldn't 
live. 

JONATHAN 

It was a terrible feeling. 

NATHANIEL 

I know, but all that's over now; and there's the 

whole story about the little hunchback you never 

were. 
JONATHAN 

[Hank's whistle is heard. Jonathan rises very 

quickly and looks at Nathaniel, 

175 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

NATHANIEL 

He comes every now and then to ask about you 
and to get something to eat. 
[Hank whistles again. 
hank's voice {at hack) 
Hi! 

NATHANIEL 

Come in, Hank. — 

HANK 

Is the old man here? 

NATHANIEL 

No. 
HANK {Enters through the gateway whistling) 

Hello, boy. 
JONATHAN 

I'm well now. How are you? 

HANK 

I'm beginning to get cold, so I think I'll go 
south tomorrow and I thought I'd drop in to say 
good-bye. 

NATHANIEL 

I'll give you an overcoat, Hank. 

HANK 

No, thanks. It's too hot to carry It. I'll get 
one when I really need it, maybe. 

NATHANIEL 

Well, here's something for you. 
\^He offers him a five dollar bill. 
Five dollars ! No, thanks. If I had that 
much money I'd lose it maybe. Give me two 
bits and call it square. 
[^Nathaniel hands him a quarter. 
Thanks. . . . Well . . . good-bye. . . . I'm glad 
your back wasn't broke. 

176 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



JONATHAN 

Good-bye, Hank. 

HANK 

Good-bye, Mister. . . . I'll see you next year 
maybe, when It's warm. — Say, kid, I'd like to 
see that Zenohia show again: — "Hail, noble 
duke," " All's well, Irene." " Not very well, 
noble duke." 

\^He goes out^ chuckling to himself. 
Aunt Letitia enters. As usual she has some- 
thing to keep her hands busy. She seats her-- 
self comfortably in a chair that custom has evi- 
dently made her very own. In her work she 
shows the effect of time upon her eyes and she 
may feel a tiny draught that causes her to close 
the doors behind her and draw her scarf a bit 
more closely about her. Never has Aunt Le- 
titia seemed more successfully the poor relation. 
LETITIA 

I thought you were out with John. 

NATHANIEL 

No. 

[Jonathan is looking at the manuscript, 
LETITIA (to Jonathan) 
How do you feel, dear? 

JONATHAN 

Fine ; . . . I think I'll go In the house and read 

this. 

(To Nathaniel) 

I'm glad it isn't true. 

\_He goes out, 

NATHANIEL . 

It's the story of his delirium. I thought it 
would Interest him — and relieve him. 

177 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

=3 

LETITIA 

Has John gone? 

NATHANIEL 

Only for a stroll — the doctor's orders. 

LETITIA 

Well? 

NATHANIEL 

Well? 

LETITIA 

Sit down. 

NATHANIEL 

In John's chair? 
LETITIA 

If you wish. 

NATHANIEL 

John's chair! The throne of the head of the 
family! {He sits in John^s chair) Well? 

LETITIA 

Nathaniel dear, you are making John very un- 
happy. 

NATHANIEL 

And John has made me very unhappy, dearest 
Aunt Letty. 

LETITIA 

The feeling at the dinner table was almost un- 
bearable tonight. There we sat strained and 
silent. 

NATHANIEL 

I am sorry. I try to avoid meals with John as 
much as possible. 

LETITIA 

You've been here eight weeks and John and I 
know nothing of you. For me It Is enough that 
you are here ; but John Is the head of the fam- 

178 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

ily and he feels that you ought to treat him with 
greater deference. 

NATHANIEL 

It is revolting to me to have a tsar in the family. 

LETITIA 

Your father and your father's father and grand- 
father were rulers of the Clay family. 

NATHANIEL 

I don't question that. 

LETITIA 

You can't change John. 

NATHANIEL 

I don't want to change John. 

LETITIA 

Then why not tell him something about your- 
self? 

NATHANIEL 

It is none of John's affairs how or why I live. 
It is none of his affair how or why or when I 
shall marry Mile. Perrault. 

LETITIA 

Perhaps not. 

NATHANIEL 

When I tell him anything, Aunt Letty, it will 
be one thing — I have stayed here because I 
love Jonathan, because he needs me. And I 
have listened to the boy's fears and to his hopes 
as they came out of his poor tortured little soul 
in his delirium. I have watched him during his 
convalescence, and I see in him a growing man 
in prison. John sees in him only the potential 
head of the family; but he is my flesh and blood 
as much as he is John's and I intend to set him 
free. 

179 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

LETITIA 

My beloved Nathaniel, John will not give Jona- 
than up to you. 

NATHANIEL 

I don't want Jonathan unless he wants to 
come to me, but I do want Jonathan's free- 
dom. 

LETITIA 

Isn't he a bit young to have freedom. 

NATHANIEL 

Aunt Letitia, I don't mean a silly license. — - 1 
mean freedom. If you are cultivating a peach- 
tree you don't expect oranges on It even If It 
could wish to be an orange tree, but you can 
help to make it bear better peaches. Jonathan 
isn't a mechanical business person. His bent is 
in another direction. 

LETITIA 

What are you going to do? 

NATHANIEL 

Frankly, I do not know. 

{Up to window. 

All I know now is that I shall stay here until I 

find a plan. 

{Jonathan enters. 
JONATHAN 

Where is Uncle John? 

NATHANIEL 

He has gone for a stroll. 

LETITIA 

What do you want, my dear? 

JONATHAN 

Uncle John sent word that he wanted to see me 
here at 7 :30. 

180 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

\_Letitia and Nathaniel look at each other. 
Jonathan takes out a large silver watch. 
It's 7:29 now. 

NATHANIEL 

John will be on time — count sixty slowly — 
[John enters. He is rather pale, seems pre- 
occupied and even more unapproachable then 
ever. 

LETITIA 

Did you have a pleasant stroll? 

JOHN 

I wasn't walking. 

LETITIA 

I shall go Into the house, I think. 

JOHN 

No, Aunt Letltia, I would rather you'd wait. If 
you please. 

[Nathaniel is an interested spectator. He can- 
not understand why Jonathan should he present 
for what will probably be an eventful family 
scene. 
Nathaniel, will you sit down? 

NATHANIEL 

Certainly. — Where? 
JOHN {tartly) 

Would you like my chair? 

NATHANIEL 

Thank you. 

[He sits in John^s chair ^ much to John's annoy- 
ance. 

JOHN 

Jonathan, sit down. 

[Jonathan sits. John also sits. Aunt Letitia 
knows what to expect. Nathaniel is more curi- 

181 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

Otis than angry. Jonathan is attending his first 
family conference. 

Jonathan, I've sent for you because I want to 
talk to you seriously. 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir. 

NATHANIEL 

Do you think the boy is strong enough? 

JOHN 

The doctor told me today that he would be quite 
equal to It. . . . Eight weeks ago, Jonathan, 
you made an effort to run away from your 
home, because I punished you. In your foolish 
defiance of all family authority you suffered a 
fall that might have resulted In a lasting and 
serious Injury. Fortunately you have recov- 
ered fully from the result of your fall. 

NATHANIEL 

Excuse me, John, but all of us know this. 

JOHN 

One moment, please, Nathaniel. ... I have 
now arranged that you begin your preparation 
for your life work Immediately. You will 
leave for Somerset School the day after tomor- 
row. 
JONATHAN {desperately) 

Uncle John, I don't want to go to Somerset 
School. 

JOHN 

You will leave for Somerset day after tomor- 
row. Good night, Jonathan. 

NATHANIEL 

Why Somerset? 

182 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

JOHN 

Good night, Jonathan. 
[Jonathan, dazed, goes out, 
NATHANIEL 

Jonathan will never go to Somerset School. 

JOHN 

Nathaniel, you forfeited your rights in the fam- 
ily councils when you ran away from home sev- 
enteen years ago. 
NATHANIEL 

This boy will run away again and again and I 
mean to save him from what I have suffered, if 
I can. 

JOHN 

Nathaniel, by what right do you attempt to 
interfere with my decisions? 
NATHANIEL 

By the right of blood and understanding. 

JOHN 

Blood and understanding? Where were you 
when Emily had to leave her husband and 
brought her boy Into my home. Where were 
you when Emily died? I took Emily in and 
I took her boy in. As head of the family 
it was my duty to do so and as head of 
the family it is my duty to see that the boy 
is brought up in the best traditions of the 
family. 

NATHANIEL 

John, you can't force this boy into a mold. 

JOHN 

A boy of fourteen doesn't know his mind. . . . 
Do you know what Jonathan wants to be? 

183 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

NATHANIEL 

Yes, a writer of plays, a theatre director, and 
an actor. 

JOHN 

Imagine ! . . . And I suppose you encouraged 
him. 

NATHANIEL 

No, but I didn't discourage him. The selection 
was wide enough for him to find some lasting 
life work. 

JOHN 

He never told me he wanted to be an actor. 

NATHANIEL 

Oh, my brother, every growing boy has a deep 
secret wish that he cannot bring himself to dis- 
close ! As you know, I always wanted to be a 
writer, but most of all I wanted to be a left- 
handed base ball pitcher. And although I'm 
irretrievably right handed I used to practice — 
religiously — pitching with my left hand. 
JOHN 

That was juvenile foolishness. 

NATHANIEL 

Yes, but it was genuine. 

[John starts to speak. 

What am I now? I am going to tell you, John 

— by and by. First, we must dispose of the 

boy. 

JOHN 

I shall decide about the boy. 

NATHANIEL 

No, John; the boy must decide for himself. 

JOHN 

He'd decide to be an actor. 

184 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



NATHANIEL 

If he did, what of it? 
JOHN 

I want members of my family to do useful work. 

NATHANIEL 

What is useful work? An actor serves his pur- 
pose just as a plumber or lawyer serves his. 
. . . The only difference is that all of us are 
not plumbers or lawyers while all of us are 
actors. Yes, John, we're all playing something 
— you are playing at head of the family, I'm — 

JOHN 

Still I do not regard acting as a worth-while 
or lucrative profession. 

NATHANIEL 

You never know, John. . . . Five generations 
ago the Clays were respectable carpenters. 
They weren't wealthy and they gave no promise 
of becoming wealthy. Then suddenly our re- 
vered ancestor became a successful maker of 
cypress drain pipes — sewer pipes, I think we 
used to call them! The family fortunes were 
founded!! Our ancestor bought a high hat 
and the esteem of his neighbors. Cypress was 
in time replaced by pottery. Conduits for 
wires and terra cotta building materials were 
added to our achievements and then^ in your 
regime superfine sewers became a specialty. 

JOHN 

Every kind of concrete work! 

NATHANIEL 

I beg your pardon ! Concrete sewers and other 
concrete things. — Such is the foundation of the 
family. 

185 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JOHN 

You are evidently ashamed of our business. 

NATHANIEL 

Not at all, but I cannot consider the manufac- 
turing of sewers a greater achievement than act- 
ing. 

JOHN 

Nathaniel, are you an actor? 

NATHANIEL 

No. 

JOHN 

What are you? 

NATHANIEL 

For the present I am Jonathan's uncle. 

JOHN 

You have nothing to do with Jonathan. 

NATHANIEL 

The boy is not going to Somerset School. 

JOHN 

Nathaniel, I shall not tolerate your interfer- 
ence. Now I must ask you to leave this house. 

NATHANIEL 

What? 

LETITIA 

John . . . Nathaniel . . . my boys, it isn't my 
way to interfere; but please for my sake, for 
your mother's sake — think what you're doing. 
JOHN {With some tenderness he lays his hand 
on Letitia*s) 

I have thought. Aunt Letitia. I can not allow 
this boy's life to be ruined as Emily's and Hen- 
ry's and Nathaniel's were. 

NATHANIEL 

Ruined? John, I'll tell you how ruined my 

i86 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

life has been and I'll tell you in terms you'll 
unders'tand. My income last year was over 
$350,000! 

JOHN 

Are you acting now? 

NATHANIEL 

Yes, I'm acting — I'm acting in terms that you 
will understand. . . . You know that I'm your 
brother Nathaniel. Do you know who else 
I am? I am a writer ana a playwright and a 
director in the United Baking Company and a 
stockholder in fhe National Munitions Com- 
pany — munitions, John; think of it, millions, 
millions in them — and I'm willing and eager 
to take Emily's boy and educate him in the way 
he wants to live his life. 

JOHN 

What are these heroics? 

NATHANIEL 

I mean what I say. If need be I shall use brute 
force, financial force or any kind of force to 
free Jonathan from the misery that I endured 
in this house. 

JOHN 

You had everything you wanted. 

NATHANIEL 

Everything except freedom to think my own 
thoughts. John, some people are like rein- 
forced concrete. Someone builds the iron 
frame and the wooden molds, then pours the 
cement and when it has hardened, the molds are 
removed and lo, you have a monolith — a soHd 
unchangeable stone. 

187 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 



JOHN 

You talk very well, Nathaniel, but I shall 
insist upon bringing up my sister's child In my 
way. 

NATHANIEL 

Would you have him run away as I did? 

JOHN 

He will never run away again. He has had his 
lesson. 

[Jonathan enters carrying a suit case, 
JONATHAN 

May I speak to you, Uncle John? 

JOHN 

What are you doing with that suit case? 

JONATHAN 

Fm going away. 

JOHN 

Who gave you permission? 

JONATHAN 

Nobody. . . I've been thinking since a little 
while ago and at first I thought Pd run away 
again; but that wouldn't be quite fair — so I 
came to tell you. 

JOHN 

Take that suit case back into the house. 

JONATHAN 

No, sir I Pm going and nobody can keep me 
here unless they tie me. 

JOHN 

Well, Pll tell you one thing — if you leave this 
house without my permission Pll cut you off 
without a penny and you'll never be allowed to 
come back again. 

i88 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir. I know that; but I'm going and I 
came to tell you good-bye. 

JOHN 

Very well. You've made your choice — and I 
never want to see you again as long as you live. 
Good-bye, Jonathan. Good-bye, Nathaniel. 

LETITIA 

John, don't say things you'll regret. Jonathan 
doesn't mean what he's saying. 
JONATHAN 

Yes'm, I do mean what I say. 

JOHN 

Good night. 
[He goes out, 

LETITIA 

Boys, you are so hot-headed — so much 
alike. . . . 

NATHANIEL 

You dear, you have always been content to com- 
promise while we two must go our own ways or 
not at all. You go to John. Help him as you 
can. He's not a bad man — he's just a struc- 
ture of reinforced concrete. You love John 
and he in his way loves you. Go to John and 
comfort his outraged authority. 
LETITIA 

I'm sorry things have turned out this way. 
{She kisses them) Good night, my dears. 
Wait until morning if you can, my darling Na- 
thaniel. 
[She goes out, 

NATHANIEL 

Now you've done It! 

189 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN 

I couldn't help it. 

NATHANIEL 

What are you going to do? 

JONATHAN 

I don't know. . . . They say there's plenty of 
work on farms. 

NATHANIEL 

You can't write if you work on a farm. 

JONATHAN 

I can earn some more money and save. Other 
boys have worked their way through school and 
college. I can do that. 

NATHANIEL 

Of course — that Is a way out of It. Yes . . . 

of course. . . . 

[Nathaniel opens the hack doors and sees 

the thinnest crescent moon hanging in the 

sky. 

The new moon. . . . They say If you make a 

wish on the new moon It will come true. 

JONATHAN 

You have to see it over your right shoulder. 

NATHANIEL 

You saw It over your right shoulder. 

JONATHAN 

I don't believe that, do you? 

NATHANIEL 

Well, suppose It were true, what would you 
wish? 

JONATHAN 

You mean for right away? 

NATHANIEL 

Yes. 

190 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 



JONATHAN {carefully looking over his right 
shoulder. 
I'd wish to be with you. 

NATHANIEL 

More than anything? 

JONATHAN 

Yes, sir. 
NATHANIEL 

More than being a writer or a theatre director 
•or an actor? 
JONATHAN 

Oh, yes, I'm too young to start right away. I 
have to have an education first. 

NATHANIEL 

Suppose that wish couldn't be, then what would 
you wish? 

JONATHAN 

That you'd write me long letters and let me 
write you long letters. 
[ Takes up his suit case, 
I'd better be going now. 

NATHANIEL 

Aren't you going to tell John and Aunt Letltia 
good-bye ? 

JONATHAN 

No, sir. I don't think I'd better. Uncle John 
doesn't care and Aunt Letltia will understand. 

NATHANIEL 

Yes, she always understands somehow. 

JONATHAN 

Good-bye, sir. 

NATHANIEL 

Jonathan, suppose we go away together. I'm 
not wanted and you're not wanted. , 

191 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN 

You're going to Paris to marry Mile. Perrault ! 

NATHANIEL 

Would you let me be your father, Jonathan? 

JONATHAN 

Sir? 

NATHANIEL 

You shall go to the schools where you will 
find the work you want. . . . Will you be my 
son? 
JONATHAN 

Do you like me that much? 

NATHANIEL 

I like you more than that much. You'll get 
some long trousers and we'll plan and plan. 
Suppose we run away together. 

JONATHAN 

Do you think we ought to leave some word, 
Uncle Nathaniel? 

NATHANIEL 

Of course. How stupid of me. 

JONATHAN 

You write It. 

NATHANIEL 

No, we'll both write it. 

JONATHAN 

I don't know what to say. I've only run away 
once. 

NATHANIEL 

So have I. 

JONATHAN 

Did you ever run away? 

NATHANIEL 

Yes — when I was eighteen. 

192 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

JONATHAN 

Oh! 
NATHANIEL (taking Up paper) 

The message ought to be short. 

JONATHAN 

Why did you run away? 

NATHANIEL 

I wanted to write. 

JONATHAN 

You did! 

NATHANIEL 

Didn't you know I ran away? 

JONATHAN 

No, sir; they never would tell me what became 
of you. 

NATHANIEL 

They didn't know. 

JONATHAN 

How could you keep it from them? 

NATHANIEL 

I changed my name — Mr. Alexander Jeffer- 
son, Sr! What shall I say? 

JONATHAN 

I can't think. . . Did Uncle John lock you in? 

NATHANIEL 

No, I just ran away. 

JONATHAN 

How long did it take you to make up your mind 
to go? 

NATHANIEL 

I thought about it first when I was twelve. My 
father was still living then. 

JONATHAN 

Did you go to Somerset School? 

193 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

NATHANIEL 

Yes — for three years. 

JONATHAN 

What did you do after you ran away? 

NATHANIEL 

I had a very hard time, my boy — at first. I 
worked at anything I could get, then I got into 
a newspaper office, then I wrote *' autobiog- 
raphies " of famous men. 
JONATHAN 

I thought you had to write your own autobiog- 
raphy — 

NATHANIEL 

Not nowadays. Then I wrote some successful 
short stories, then some very successful long 
ones — and now I am independent; but it took 
me ten bitter years to make my first success. 
. . . What shall I write here ? 
JONATHAN 

I never could think of things to say when I was 
going away. 

NATHANIEL 

Neither could I. 

JONATHAN 

Don't you think " good-bye " would be enough? 
NATHANIEL (writing) 

Capital. . . . '' Good-Bye — Nathaniel.'* Now 

you sign it. 
JONATHAN (Signs) 

*' Jonathan." . . . Maybe we ought to put a 
line under it so Aunt Letitia won't feel so bad. 
NATHANIEL (makes a line) 

Dear Aunt Letitia will understand. She is the 
blessed kind who always does. Now, where 

194 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

shall we put It? . . . On John's chair, and 
maybe he'll understand too. 
[He pins the note to John's chair. 
JONATHAN 

Don't you want to pack your things? 

NATHANIEL 

I'll wire for them. 
[Susan enters. 

On second thought, I'll ask Aunt Letltia to send 
them. 

[He goes out, 
JONATHAN 

Hello, Susan. 

SUSAN 

Jonathan, I just saw Miss Letltia and she was 
crying. . . . What's the matter? 

JONATHAN 

I'm going away, Susan. 

SUSAN 

Where are you going? 

JONATHAN 

I'm going with Uncle Nathaniel. I'm going to 
be his son. And I'm going to a fine prep, 
school and learn to write and do what I like. 

SUSAN 

When are you coming back? 

JONATHAN 

I don't know. When I'm older maybe. 

SUSAN 

Can't we write any more songs? 

JONATHAN 

I'll send some words to you In letters. 

SUSAN 

Will you write every week? 

195 



MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS 

JONATHAN 

Yes. . . . Will you? 

SUSAN 

Yes. I wish I was going, too. 

JONATHAN 

So do I. 

SUSAN 

Maybe I'll come to see you graduate. 

JONATHAN 

That will be fine! 
SUSAN {She kisses hhn very simply) 
Good-bye, Jonathan. 

JONATHAN 

Good-bye, Susan. 

SUSAN 

I can hardly wait until you graduate. 

JONATHAN 

Neither can I. . . . Good-bye. 
[Nathaniel enters, 
NATHANIEL 

On third thought, I decided to wire for my 
things. 

SUSAN 

Good-bye, Mr. Nathaniel. I hope you'll have 
a nice time. 

NATHANIEL 

Good-bye, Susan. 

[He kisses her. She goes out. 

JONATHAN 

Good-bye, Susan. 
SUSAN (calling) 

Send me some picture postcards, Jonathan. 

JONATHAN 
I will. 

196 



JONATHAN MAKES A WISH 

\^He watches her. 
NATHANIEL {Goes to window) 

Don't you want to make your wish on the new 
moon, Jonathan? 

JONATHAN 

I don't know what to wish now. The only one 
I could think of has come true. 

NATHANIEL 

Good . . . come, my boy. 

JONATHAN 

I'll write a long letter to Susan Sample every 
week. 

NATHANIEL 

You can write her a long letter from New York. 

JONATHAN 

And I can send her picture postcards from every 

place we go to. 

\^Arm in arm they go out talking. 



The Curtain Falls. 



197 



APPENDIX 



APPENDIX 



A. M. PALMER — AUTHOR'S MATINEES 

Madison Square Theater 1887 

Marjorie's Lovers Brander Matthews 

Elaine (from Tennyson) . . G. P. Lathrop 
A Foregone Conclusion. W. D. Howells 

THE THEATER OF ARTS AND LETTERS 

2jrd Street Theater 1891 

Giles Corey Mary E. Wilkins 

Squirrel Inn (from Frank 

Stockton) Frank Presbrey 

The Other Woman Richard Harding 

Davis 

Harvest Clyde Fitch 

The Decision of the 

Court Brander Matthews 

Frederick J. Stimson 

THE CRITERION INDEPENDENT 
THEATER 

Madison Square Theater 1897 

Berkeley Lyceum 

OHN Gabriel Bjorkman. Ibsen 

The Rights of the Soul Giacosa 

That Overcoat Augustus Thomas 

From a Clear Sky Henri Dumay 

LL Gran Galeoto Echegaray 

201 



APPENDIX 



THE INDEPENDENT THEATER 

Carnegie Lyceum 1^99 

El Gran Galeoto Echegaray 

Ties Hervieu 

The Master Builder . . Ibsen 

The Storm . Ostrovsky 

The Heather Field . . . Martyn 
A Troubadour Coppe 

THE NEW THEATER 

1909--1911 
First Season 

Antony and Cleopatra . . Shakespeare 
The Cottage in the Air . Knoblauch 

Strife Galszvorthy 

The Nigger . Sheldon 

The School for Scandal Sheridan 

[ Liz the Mother Fenn and Bryce 

I Don Besier 

Twelfth Night Shakespeare 

The Witch (adapted from 

Scandinavian by Hag adorn {Wiers- 

Jensscn) 
r Brand (act IV con- 
densed) Ibsen 

[ Sister Beatrice Maeterlinck 

The Winter's Tale Shakespeare 

Beethoven Fauchois 

Second Season 

The Blue Bird Maeterlinck 

The Merry Wives of 

Windsor Shakespeare 

202 



APPENDIX 



The Thunderbolt Pinero 

J Don Besier 

\ Sister Beatrice Maeterlinck 

Mary Magdalene Maeterlinck 

Old Heidelberg Meyer-Foerster 

Vanity Fair R. Hichens and C. 

Gordan Lennox 

The Piper Marks 

Nobody's Daughter Paston 

The Arrow Maker Austin 

In addition there was a borrowed production of 
A Song of the People . . . Michaelis 

MISS GRACE GEORGE — THE 
PLAYHOUSE 

The Playhouse 19 15-19 17 

1st Season 

The New York Idea . . . Mitchell 

The Liars Jones 

Earth Fagan 

Major Barbara Shaw 

Captain Brassbound's 

Conversion Shaw 

2nd Season 

Eve's Daughter Ramsey 

Elevation Bernstein 

WASHINGTON SQUARE PLAYERS ^ 

Bandbox and Comedy Theaters 19 15-19 17 

Interior Maeterlinck 

1 Taken from Prof. Dickenson's book, "The Insurgent 
Theater," in which a number of interesting and more recent 
repertories of " independent " theaters are given. 

203 



APPENDIX 



EuGENiCALLY SPEAKING . . Goodman 

Licensed Lawrence 

Another Interior » 

Love of One's Neighbor . Andreyev 

MooNDOWN Reed 

My Lady's Honor Pemberton 

Two Blind Beggars and . 

One Less Blind Moeller 

The Shepherd in the Dis- 
tance (pantomime) . . . Hudson 
The Miracle of St. An- 
tony Maeterlinck 

In April Stokes 

Forbidden Fruit Feuillet 

Saviours Goodman 

The Bear Tchekhov 

Helena's Husband Moeller 

Fire and Water . White 

The Antick MacKaye 

A Night of Snows Bracco 

Literature ...... .\ Schnitzler 

The Honourable Lover . Bracco 

Whims -Musset 

Overtones . Gerstenherg 

The Clod . . Beach 

The Road-House in Ar- 

DEN :. . Moeller 

The Tenor Wedekind 

The Red Cloak (panto- 
mime) Meyer 

Children Bolton and Carlton 

The Age of Reason . . . Dorrian 
The Magical City ..... Akins 

Monsieur Pierre Patelin ........ . . . 

204 



APPENDIX 



Aglavaine and Selysette Maeterlinck 

The Sea Gull Tchekhov 

A Merry Death ........ Evreinev 

Lover's Luck Porto-Riche 

The Sugar House Brown 

Sisters of Susanna Moeller 

BusHiDO Izumo 

Trifles Glaspell 

Another Way Out Langner 

Altruism EttUnger 

The Death of Tintagiles Maeterlinck 

The Last Straw Crocker 

The Hero of Santa Ma- 
ria Goodman and 

Hecht 

Impudence Auemheimer 

Plots and Playwrights . Massey 

The Life of Man Andreyev 

Sganarelle Moliere 

The Poor Fool Bahr 

Ghosts Ibsen 

Pariah Strindberg 

REPERTORY OF THE STUART WALKER 

COMPANY 

The Trimplet Walker 

A Fan and Two Candle-. 

sticks MacMillan 

Six Who Pass While the 

Lentils Boil Walker 

The Seven Gifts (a pan- 
tomime) Walker 

The Moon Lady (a panto- 
mime) Walker 

205 



APPENDIX 



Nevertheless Walker 

Gammer Gurton's Needle 

( adapted by Mr. Walker) Stevenson 

The Lady of the Weeping 

Willow Tree Walker 

The Golden Doom Dunsany 

Voices Flexner 

The Crier by Night Bottomley 

The Gods of the Moun- 
tain Dunsany 

The Medicine Show . . . Walker 

The Very Naked Boy . . Walker 

The Birthday of the In- 
fanta (from Oscar 
Wilde's story) Walker 

King Argimenes and the 

Unknown Warrior . . . Dunsany 

It Pays to Advertise .... Megrue 

The Dummy O'Higgins and Ford 

The Concert Bahr 

Kick In Mack 

Seventeen Walker 

Seven Keys to Baldpate . Cohan 

The Country Boy Selwyn 

You Never Can Tell . . . Shaw 

Officer 666 McHugh 

Broadway Jones Cohan 

The Woman DeMille 

The Show Shop Forbes 

A Night in Avignon .... Rice 

The Son of Isis Kelly 

Stingy Parry 

The Book of Job 

Romance Sheldon 

206 



APPENDIX 



Stop Thief Moore 

The Hero Brown 

The Misleading Lady . . Goddard and Dic- 
key 
Alias Jimmy Valentine 

(from O. Henry's story) Armstrong 

Passers By Chambers 

Seven Up Coleman 

The Three of Us Crothers 

The Fortune Hunter . Smith 
Alice Sit by the Fire . . . Barrie 
The Workhouse Ward . Gregory 

The Wolf Walter 

The Truth Fitch 

Jonathan Makes a Wish Walker 
The Laughter of the 

Gods Dunsany 

The Tents of the Arabs. Dunsany 
The Cinderella Man . . . Carpenter 
Good Gracious Annabelle Kummer 
Leah Kleschna ........ MacClellan 

Over Night Bartholomae 

The Passing of the Third 

Floor Back Jerome 

Milestones ,. . Bennett and Kno- 

block 

Kismet Knoblock 

Don Besier 

The Gibson Upright .... Tarkington and Ail- 

son 

The Murderers Dunsany 

Too Many Cooks Craven 



207 



CASTS 

The Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree 
cast for opening 

0-SODE Harrie Fumade 

O-Katsu Annie Lowry 

Obaa-San Florence JVollersen 

The Gaki of Kokoru . . . McKay Morris 

AOYAGI Nancy Winston 

RiKi JVilmot Heitland 

The Very Naked Boy 

cast for OPENING 

He Willard Webster 

She Dorothea Carothers 

Boy ,. Gregory Kelly 

Jonathan Makes a Wish 
new york cast 

Aunt Letitia Elizabeth Patterson 

Susan Sample Beatrice Maude 

Uncle Nathaniel George Gaul 

Uncle John Ainsworth Arnold 

Jonathan Gregory Kelly 

Mlle. Perrault ........ Margaret Mower 

Hank Edgar Stehli 

Albert Peet Joseph Graham 

Mary . Elizabeth Black 

John III John Talbott 

First produced at the Murat Theatre, Indian- 
apolis, August 12, 19 1 8. 

208 



APPENDIX 



At the Princess Theatre, New York premiere, 
September ii, 191 8, Elizabeth Patterson played 
Aunt Letitia, which was played in Indianapolis by 
Judith Lowry. 



209 



A SELECTED LIST 

OF 

DRAMATIC 
LITERATURE 





PUBLISHED BY 

STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 

CINCINNATI 



DRAMATIC LITERATURE 



European Theories of the Drama 

An Anthology of Dramatic Theory and Criticism from 

Aristotle to the Present Day, in a Series of Selected 

Texts, iviik Commentaries, Biographies and 

Bibliographies 

By BARRETT H. CLARK 

Author of " Contemporary French Dramatists," " The 

Continental Drama of Today," " British and 

American Drama of Today," etc., etc. 

A book of paramount importance. This monumental 
anthology brings together for the first time the epoch- 
making theories and criticisms of the drama which have 
afFected our civilization from the beginnings in Greece 
down to the present day. Beginning with Aristotle, each 
utterance on the subject has been chosen with reference to 
its importance, and its effect on subsequent dramatic 
writing. The texts alone would be of great interest and 
value, but the author, Barrett H. Clark, has so connected 
each period by means of inter-chapters that his comments 
taken as a whole constitute a veritable history of dramatic 
criticism, in which each text bears out his statements. 

Nowhere else is so important a body of doctrine on the 
subject of the drama to be obtained. It cannot fail to 
appeal to any one who is interested in the theater, and 
will be indispensable to students. 

The introduction to each section of the book is followed 
by an exhaustive bibliography; each writer whose work 
is represented is made the subject of a brief biography, 
and the entire volume is rendered doubly valuable by the 
index, which is worked out in great detail. 

Prof. Btander Matthews of Columbia University 
says: "Mr. Clark deserves high praise for the careful 
thoroughness with which he has performed the task he set 
for himself. He has done Well what was well worth doing. 
In these five hundred pages he has extracted the essence 
of several five-foot shelves. His anthology will be in- 
valuable to all students of the principles of playmaking; 
and it ought to be welcomed by all those whose curiosity 
has been aroused by the frequent references of our latter 
day theorists of the theater to their predecessors." 

Wm. Lyon Phelps of Yale University writes: "Mr. 
Clark's book, ' European Theories of the Drama,' is an 
exceedingly valuable work and ought to be widely useful." 
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Plays and Players 

Leaves from a Critic's Scrapbook 

BY WALTER PRICHARD EATON 
PREFACE BY BARRETT H. CLARK 
A new volume of criticisms of plays and papers on act- 
ing, play-making, and other dramatic problems, by Wal- 
ter Prichard Eaton, dramatic critic, and author of " The 
American Stage of To-day," " At the New Theater and 
Others," "Idyl of the Twin Fires," etc. The new 
volume begins with plays produced as far back as 1910, 
and brings the record down to the current year. One sec- 
tion is devoted to American plays, one to foreign plays 
acted on our stage, one to various revivals of Shakes- 
peare, These sections form a record of the important 
activities of the American theater for the past six years, 
and constitute about half of the volume. The remainder 
of the book is given over to various discussions of the 
actor's art, of play construction, of the new stage craft, 
of new movements in our theater, such as the Washington 
Square Players, and several lighter essays in the satiric 
vein which characterized the author's work when he was 
the dramatic critic of the New York Sun. Unlike most 
volumes of criticisms, this one is illustrated, the pictures of 
the productions described in the text furnishing an ad- 
ditional historical record. At a time when the drama is 
regaining its lost position of literary dignity it is partic- 
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discussion should also find accompanying publication. 
Toronto Saturday Night: 

Mr. Eaton writes well and with dignity and inde- 
pendence. His book should find favor with the more 
serious students of the Drama of the Day. 
Detroit Free Press: 

This is one of the most interesting and also valu- 
able books on the modern drama that we have 
encountered in that period popularly referred to as 
" a dog's age." Mr. Eaton is a competent and well- 
esteemed critic. The book is a record of the activ- 
ities of the American stage since 1910, down to the 
present. Mr. Eaton succinctly restores the play to 
the memory, revlsualizes the actors, and puts the 
kernel of it Into a nutshell for us to ponder over and 
by which to correct our impressions. 
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Four Plays of the Free Theater 

Francois de CureFs The Fossils 

Jean Jullien's The Serenade 

Georges de Porto-Riche's 

Francoise' Luck 

Georges Ancey's The Dupe 

Translated nvith an introduction on Antoine and Theatre 
Libre by BARRETT H. CLARK. Preface by BRIEUX, of the 
French Academy, and a Sonnet by EDMOND ROSTAND. 

The Review of Reviews says: 

"A lengthy introduction, which is a gem of con- 
densed information." 

H. L. Mencken (in the Smart Set) says: 

"Here we have, not only skilful playwriting, but 
also sound literature." 

Brander Matthews says: 

'The book is welcome to all students of the modern 
stage. It contains the fullest account of the activities 
of Antoine's Free Theater to be found anywhere — 
even in French." 

The Chicago Tribune says: 

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has done this important task excellently." 

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DRAMATIC LITERATURE 



Contemporary French Dramatists 

By BARRETT H. CLARK 

In "Contemporary Trench Dramatists" Mr. Barrett H. 
Clark, author of "The Continental Drama of Today" 
"The British and American Drama of Today," translator 
of "Four Plays of the Free Theater," and of (various plays 
of Donnay, Hervieu, Lemaitre, Sardou, Lavedan, etc., has 
contributed the first collection of studies on the modern 
French theater. Mr. Clark takes up the chief dramatists 
of France beginning nvith the Theatre Libre: Curel, 
Brieux, Hervieu, Lemaitre, La<vedan, Donnay, Porto-Riche, 
Rostand, Bataille, Bernstein, Capus, Flers, and Caillavet. 
The book contains numerous quotations from the chief rep- 
resentative plays of each dramatist, a separate chapter on 
"Characteristics" and the most complete bibliography to 
be found anywhere. 

This book gives a study of contemporary drama in 
France nuhich has been more neglected than any other 
European country. 

Independent, New York: 

"Almost indispensable to the student of the theater." 

Boston Transcript: 

" Mr. Clark's method of analyzing the works of the 
Playwrights selected is simple and helpful. * * * As 
a manual for reference or story, 'Contemporary French 
Dramatists/ with its added bibliographical material, 
will serve well its purpose." 

Uniform ivith FOUR PLAYS. Handsomely bound. 

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DRAMATIC LITERATURE 



The Antigone of Sophocles 

By PROF. JOSEPH EDWARD HARRY 



An acting 'version of this most perfect of all dramas. 
A scholarly ivork in readable English. Especiallly 
adaptable for Colleges, Dramatic Societies, etc. 

Post Express, Rochester: 

"He has done his work well." "Profetssor Harry 
has translated with a virile force that is almost Shake- 
spearean." "The difficult task of rendering the 
choruses into English lyrical verse has been very cred- 
itably accomplished." 

Argonaut, San Francisco: 

"Professor Harry is a competent translator not 
only because of his classical knowledge, but also be- 
cause of a certain enthusiastic sympathy that shows 
itself in an unfailing choice of words and expression." 

North American, Philadelphia: 

"Professor Harry, teacher of Greek in the Cincin- 
nati University, has written a new metrical transla- 
tion of the Antigone of Sophocles. The translation 
is of fine dramatic quality." 

Oregonian, Portland: 

"A splendidly executed translation of the celebrated 
Greek tragedy." 

Herald, Boston: 

"Scholars will not need to be urged to read this 
noteworthy piece of literary work, and we hope that 
many others who have no special scholarly interest 
will be led to its perusal." 

8vo. cloth. Dignified binding Net, $i.oo 



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44 



European Dramatists ' ' 



By ARCHIBALD HENDERSON 
Author of "George Bernard Shaw: His Life and Works." 
In the present nvork the famous dramatic critic and 
biographer of Shaiv has considered six representative 
dramatists outside of the United States, some Hiding, some 
dead— Strindb erg, Ibsen, Maeterlinck, Wilde, Sha<iv, Bar- 
ker, and Schnitzler. 

Velma Swanston Howard says: 

^ "Prof. Henderson's appraisal of Strindberg is cer- 
tainly the fairest, kindest and most impersonal that 
I have yet seen. The author has that rare combina- 
tion of intellectual power and spiritual insight which 
casts a clear, strong light upon all subjects under his 
treatment." 

Baltimore Evening Sun: 

"Prof, Henderson's criticism is not only notable for 
its understanding and good sense, but also for the 
extraordinary range and accuracy of its information." 
Jeanette L. Gilder, in the Chicago Tribune: 

"Henderson is a writer who throws new light on 
old subjects." 

Chicago Record Herald: 

"His essays in interpretation are welcome. Mr. 
Henderson has a catholic spirit and writes without 
parochial prejudice — a thing deplorably rare among 
American critics of the present day. * * * One finds 
that one agrees with Mr. Henderson's main conten- 
tions and is eager to break a lance with him about 
minor points, which is only a way of saying that he is 
stimulating, that he strikes sparks. He knows his age 
thoroughly and lives in it with eager sympathy and 
understanding." 

Providence Journal: 

"Henderson has done his work, within its obvious 
limitations, in an exceedingly competent manner. He 
has the happy faculty of making his biographical 
treatment interesting, combining the personal facts and 
a fairly clear and entertaining portrait of the indi- 
vidual with intelligent critical comment on his artistic 
work." 
Photogravure frontispiece, handsomely printed and 
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DRAMATIC LITERATURE 



At Last 

You May Understand 

G. B. s. 

Perhaps once in a generation a figure of commanding 
greatness appears, one through whose life the history of 
his time may be read. There is but one such man to- 
day. 

George Bernard Shaw 

HIS LIFE AND WORKS 

A CRITICAL BIOGRAPHY (Authorized) 

By 
ARCHIBALD HENDERSON, M.A.Ph.D. 

Is virtually the story of the social, economic and 
aesthetic life of the last twenty-five years. It is a sym- 
pathetic, yet independent interpretation of the most po- 
tent individual force in society. Cultivated America will 
find here the key to all that is baffling and elusive in 
Shaw; it is a cinematographic picture of his mind with a 
background disclosing all the formative influences that 
combined to produce this universal genius. 

The -press of the ivorld has united in its praise; let us 
send you some of the comments. It is a large demy 8vo 
(volume cloth, gilt top, 628 pages, with 35 full page illus- 
trations in color, photogravure and halftone and numerous 
pictures in the text. 

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DRAMATIC LITERATURE 



The Changing Drama 

By ARCHIBALD HENDERSON, M.A. Ph.D. 

Author of " European Dramatists," ** George Bernard 
Shaw — His Life and Work." Etc. 

A vital book, popular in style, cosmopolitan in tone,, 
appraising the drama of the past sixty years, its changes, 
contributions and tendencies. Has an expression of the 
larger realities of the art and life of our time. 

E. B. Hale in Th'e Dial: '* One of the most widely 
read dramatic critics of our day; few know as well as he 
what is ' up ' in the dramatic world, what are the cur- 
rents of present-day thought, what people are thinking, 
dreaming, doing, or trying to do." 

New York Times: " Apt, happily allusive, finely in- 
formed essays on the dramatists of our own time — his 
essay style is vigorous and pleasing." 

Book News Monthly: " Shows clear understanding 
of the evolution of form and spirit, and the differentia- 
tion of the forces — spiritual, intellectual and social — 
which are making the theatre what it is today . . . we 
can recollect no book of recent times which has such con- 
temporaneousness, yet which regards the subject with such 
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eral student of drama ... a book of rich perspective and 
sound analysis. The style is simple and direct." 

Geo. Middleton in La Follette's: "The best attempt 
to formulate the tendencies which the drama is now taking 
in its evolutionary course." 

Argonaut: " Marked by insight, discernment and en- 
thusiasm." 

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DRAMATIC LITERATURE 



Short Plays 



By MARY MAC MILLAN 

To fill a long-felt ivant. All have been successfully 
presented. Suitable for Women's Clubs, Girls' Schools, 
etc. While elaborate enough for big presentation, they 
may be given very simply. 
[Review of Reviews: 

"Mary MacMillan offers 'Short Plays,' a collec- 
tion of pleasant one to three-act plays for wonoien's 
clubs, girls' schools, and home parlor production. 
Some are pure comedies, others gentle satires on 
women's faults and foibles. 'The Futurists,' a skit 
on a woman's club in the year 1882, is highly amus- 
ing. 'Entr' Act' is a charming trifle that brings two 
quarreling lovers together through a ridiculous pri- 
vate theatrical. 'The Ring' carries us gracefully back 
to the days of Shakespeare; and 'The Shadowed Star,* 
the best of the collection, is a Christmas Eve tragedy. 
The Star is shadowed by our thoughtless inhumanity 
to those who serve us and our forgetfulness of the 
needy. The Old Woman, gone daft, who babbles in 
a kind of mongrel Kiltartan, of the Shepherds, the 
Blessed Babe, of the Fairies, rowan berries, roses and 
dancing, while her daughter dies on Christmas Eve, is 
a splendid characterization." 
Boston Transcript: 

"Those who consigned the writer of these plays to 
solitude and prison fare evidently knew that 'needs 
must' is a sharp stimulus to high powers. If we find 
humor, gay or rich. If we find brilliant wit; if we 
find constructive ability joined with dialogue which 
moves like an arrow ; if we find delicate and keen 
characterization, with a touch of genius in the choice 
of names; if we find poetic power which moves on 
easy wing — the gentle jailers of the writer are justi- 
fied, and the gentle reader thanks their severity." 

Salt Lake Tribune: 

"The Plays are ten In number, all of goodly length. 
We prophesy great things for this gifted dramatist." 
Bookseller, News Dealer & Stationer: 

"The dialogue Is permeated with graceful satire, 
snatches of wit, picturesque phraseology, and tender, 
often exquisite, expressions of sentiment." 
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DRAMATIC LITERATURE 



More Short Plays 

BY MARY MacMILLAN 

Plays that act well may read well. Miss MacMillan's 
plays are good reading. Nor is literary excellence a 
detriment to dramatic performance. They were put on 
the stage before they were put into print. They differ 
slightly from those in the former volume. Two of them, 
" The Pioneers," a story of the settlement of the Ohio 
Valley, and " Honey," a little mountain girl cotton-mill 
worker, are longer. The other six, " In Mendelesia," 
Parts I and II, "The Dryad," "The Dress Rehearsal of 
Hamlet," "At the Church," and "His Second Girl," 
contain the spirit of humor, something of subtlety, and 
something of fantasy. 

Brooklyn Daily Eagle: "Mary MacMillan, whose 
first volume of short plays proved that she possessed 
unusual gifts as a dramatist, has justified tihe hopes 
of her friends in a second volume, * More Short Plays,' 
which reveal the author as the possessor of a charm- 
ing literary style coupled with a sure dramatic sense 
that never leads her idea astray. ... In them all the 
reader will find a rich and delicate charm, a bounti- 
ful endowment of humor and wit, a penetrating knowl- 
edge of human nature, and a deft touch in the drawing 
of character. They are delicately and sympatnetically 
done and their literary charm is undeniable." 

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The Gift 



A Poetic Drama 
By MARGARET DOUGLAS ROGERS 

A dramatic poem in t<wo acts, treating in altogether 
neiJU fashion the ivorld old story of Pandora, the first 
ivoman. 

New Haven Times Leader: 

"Well written and attractive." 
E V angelical M essenger : 

"A very beautifully written portrayal of the old 
story of Pandora." 
Rochester Post Dispatch: 

"There is much poetic feeling in the treatment of 
the subject." 
Grand Rapids Herald: 

"The Gift, dealing with this ever interesting 
mythological story, is a valuable addition to the dramas 
of the day." 
St, Xavier Calendar: 

"The story of Pandora is so set down as to bring 
out its stage possibilities. Told by Mrs. Rogers in 
exquisite language." 
Salt Lake Tribune: 

"The tale is charmingly wrought and has possibil- 
ities as a simple dramatic production, as well as being 
a delightful morsel of light reading." 
Cincinnati Enquirer: 

"The love story is delightfully told and the dra- 
matic action of the play is swift and strong." 
Buffalo Express: 

"It is a delightful bit of fancy with a dramatic and 
poetic setting." 
Boston Woman's Journal: 

"Epimetheus and Pandora and her box are charm- 
ingly presented." 
Worcester Gazette: 

"It is absolutely refreshing to find a writer willing 
to risk a venture harking back to the times of the 
Muses and the other worthies of mythological fame. 
* * * The ttory of Pandora's box told in verse by a 
woman. It may be said it could not have been better 
written had a representative of the one who only as- 
sisted at the opening been responsible for the play." 
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DRAMATIC LITERATURE 



Comedies of Words 
and Other Plays 

BY ARTHUR SCHNITZLER 
TRANSLATED BY PIERRE LOVING 



The contents are < 



" The Hour of Recognition " 

" Great Scenes " 

" The Festival of Bacchus " 

" His Helpmate " 

" Literature,'* 



In his "Comedies of Words," Arthur Schnitzler, the 
great Austrian Dramatist, has penetrated to newer and 
profounder regions of human psychology. According to 
Schnitzler, the keenly compelling problems of earth are: 
the adjustment of a man to one woman, a woman to one 
man, the children to their parents, the artist to life, the 
individual to his most cherished beliefs, and how can we 
accomplish this adjustment when, try as we please, there 
is a destiny which sweeps our little plans away like help- 
less chessmen from the board? Since the creation of An- 
atol, that delightful toy philosopher, so popular in almost 
every theater of the world, the great Physician-Dramatist 
has pushed on both as World-Dramatist and reconnoiterer 
beyond the misty frontiers of man's conscious existence. 
He has attempted in an artistic way to get beneath what 
Freud calls the " Psychic Censor " which edits all our 
suppressed desires. Reading Schnitzler is like going to 
school to Life itself! 

Bound uniform ivith the S & K Dramatic Series, Net $1.75 



DRAMATIC LITERATURE 



Lucky Pehr 



By AUGUST STRINDBERG 

Authorized Translation by Velma Sivansion Hotvard. 

An allegorical drama in five acts. Compared favorably 

to Barriers "Peter Pan" and Maeterlinck's "The Blue 

Bird." 

Rochester Post Express: 

Strindberg has written many plays which might be 
described as realistic nightmares. But this remark does 
not apply to "Lucky Pehr." * * * This drama is one 
of the most favorable specimens of Strindberg's 
genius. 

New York World: 

"Pehr" is lucky because, having tested all things, 
he finds that only love and duty are true. 

New York Times: 

"Lucky Pehr" clothes cynicism in real entertain- 
ment instead of in gloom. And it has its surprises. 
Can this be August Strindberg, who ends his drama 
so sweetly on the note of the woman-soul, leading up- 
ward and on? 

Worcester Gazette: 

From a city of Ohio comes this product of Swedish 
fancy in most attractive attire, attesting that the pos- 
sibilities of dramatic art have not entirely ceased in 
this age of vaudeville and moving pictures. A great 
sermon in altruism is preached in these pages, which 
we would that millions might see and hear. To those 
who think or would like to think, "Lucky Pehr" will 
prove a most readable book. * * * An allegory, it is 
true, but so are y?isop's Fables, the Parables of the 
Scriptures and many others of the most effective les- 
sons ever given. 

Boston Globe: 

A popular drama. * * * There Is no doubt about 
the book being a delightful companion in the library. 
In charm of fancy and grace of imagery the story may 
not be unfairly classed with "The Blue Bird" and 
"Peter Pan." 
Photogravure frontispiece of Strindberg etched by 

Zorn. Also, a reproduction of Velma S'wanston Hoivard's 

authorization. 

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Raster 



(A Play in Three Acts) 
AND STORIES BY AUGUST STRINDBERG 

Authorized translation by Velma Sivanston Howard. 
In this <work the author reveals a broad tolerance, a rare 
poetic tenderness augmented by an almost divine under- 
standing of human frailties as marking certain natural 
stages in evolution of the soul. 
Louisville Courier=Journal : 

Here is a major key of cheerfulness and idealism 
— a relief to a reader who has passed through some 
of the author's morbid pages. * * * Some critics find 
in this play (Easter) less of the thrust of a distinctive 
art than is found in the author's more lugubrious 
dramas. There is indeed less sting in it. Neverthe- 
less it has a nobler tone. It more ably fulfills the 
purpose of good drama — the chastening of the spec- 
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fering of the dramatic personages. There is in the 
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and its power to embrace all in its beneficence, to bring 
all confusion to harmony. 
The Nation: 

Those who like the variety of symbolism which 
Maeterlinck has often employed — most notably in the 
"Bluebird" — will turn with pleasure to the short stories 
of Strindberg which Mrs. Howard has included in her 
volume. * * * They are one and all diverting on ac- 
count of the author's facility in dealing with fanciful 
details. 
Bookseller: 

"Easter" is a play of six characters illustrative of 
human frailties and the effect of the divine power 
of tolerance and charity. * * * There is a symbolism, 
a poetic quality, a spiritual insight in the author's 
work that make a direct appeal to the cultured. * * * 
The Dial: 

One play from his (Strindberg's) third, or sym- 
bolistic period stands almost alone. This is "Easter." 
There is a sweet, sane, life-giving spirit about it. 
Photogravure frontispiece of Strindberg etched by 
Zorn. Also, a reproduction of Velma Snvanston Howard's 
authorization. 
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The Hamlet Problem and Its Solution 

By EMERSON VENABLE 

The tragedy of Hamlet has ne'ver been adequately in- 
terpreted. Tnvo hundred years of critical discussion has 
not sufficed to reconcile conflicting impressions regarding 
the scope of Shakespeare's design in this, the first of his 
great philosophic tragedies. We believe that all those 
students ivho are interested in the study of Shakespeare 
ivill find this 'volume of great 'value. 
The Louisville Courier=Journal: 

"Mr. Venable's Hamlet is a 'protagonist of a drama 
of triumphant moral achievement.' He rises through 
the play from an elected agent of vengeance to a 
man gravely impressed with *an imperative sense of 
moral obligation, tragic in its depth, felt toward the 
world.' " 
E. H. Sothern: 

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own that the book has been a real delight to me. I 
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yet be a trifle in the dark." 
The Book News Monthly: 

"Mr. Venable is the latest critic to apply himself 
to the 'Hamlet' problem, and he offers a solution in 
an admirably written little book which is sure to at- 
tract readers. Undeterred by the formidable names 
of Goethe and Coleridge, Mr. Venable pronounces un- 
tenable the theories which those great authors pro- 
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the Prince of Denmark. * * * Mr. Venable looks in 
another direction for the solution of the problem. 
* * * The solution offered by the author is just the 
reverse of that proposed by Goethe. * * * From Mr. 
Venable's viewpoint the key to 'Hamlet' is found in 
the famous soliloquies, and his book is based upon 
a close study of those utterances which bring us with- 
in the portals of the soul of the real Hamlet. The 
reader with an open mind will find in Mr. Venable a 
writer whose breadth of view and searching thought 
gives weight to this competent study of the most inter- 
esting of Shakespearean problems." 
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Portmanteau Plays 

BY STUART WALKER 

Edited and with an Introduction by 

EDWARD HALE BIERSTADT 

This volume contains four One Act Plays by the in- 
ventor and director of the Portmanteau Theater. They 
are all included in the regular repertory of the Theater 
and the four contained in this volume comprise in them- 
selves an evening's bill. 

There is also an Introduction by Edward Hale Bier- 
stadt on the Portmanteau Theater in theory and practice. 

The book is illustrated by pictures taken from actual 
presentations of the plays. 

The first play, the ** Trimpletf* deals with the search 
for a certain magic thing called a trimplet which can cure 
all the ills of whoever finds it. The search and the find- 
ing constitute the action of the piece. 

Second play, ** Six who Pass While the Lentils 
Boil," is perhaps the most popular in Mr. Walker's 
repertory. The story is of a Queen who, having stepped 
on the ring-toe of the King's great-aunt, is condemned 
to die before the clock strikes twelve. The Six who pass 
the pot in which boil the lentils are on their way to the 
execution. 

Next comes " Nevertheless,** which tells of a burglar 
who oddly enough reaches regeneration through two chil- 
dren and a dictionary. 

And last of all is the " Medicine'Show,** which is a 
character study situated on the banks of the Mississippi. 
One does not see either the Show or the Mississippi, but 
the characters are so all sufficient that one does not miss 
the others. 

All of these plays are fanciful — symbolic if you like 
— but all of them have a very distinct raison d'etre in 
themselves, quite apart from any ulterior meaning. 

With Mr. Walker it is always "the story first," and 
herein he is at one with Lord Dunsany and others of his 
ilk. The plays have body, force, and beauty always; and 
if the reader desires to read in anything else surely that 
is his privilege. 

Each play, and even the Theater itself has a prologue, 
and with the help of these one is enabled to pass from one 
charming tale to the next without a break in the continuity. 
With five full-page illustrations on cameo paper. 

J2mo. Silk cloth $1-75 



DRAMATIC LITERATURE 



The Truth 

About The Theater 

Anonymous 

Precisely what the title indicates — facts as they 
are, plain and unmistakable without veneer of any 
sort. It goes directly to the heart of the whole 
matter. Behind the writer of it — who is one of 
the best known theatrical men in New York — are 
long years of experience. He recites what he 
knows, what he has seen, and his quiet, calm, au- 
thoritative account of conditions as they are is with- 
out adornment, excuse or exaggeration. It is in- 
tended to be helpful to those who want the facts, 
and for them it will prove of immeasurable value. 

" The Truth About the Theater," in brief, lifts 
the curtain on the American stage. It leaves no 
phase of the subject untouched. To those who are 
ambitious to serve the theater, either as players or 
as playwrights, or, again, in some managerial ca- 
pacity, the book is invaluable. To those, too, who 
would know more about the theater that they may 
come to some fair estimate of the worth of the in- 
numerable theories nowadays advanced, the book 
will again prove its value. 

Net $1,00 



